


The lion of Gauda Prime

by alinewrites



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5803555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/pseuds/alinewrites





	1. Chapter 1

Avon gave the young man a last thorough look, his lips tightening.

"Are you sure you want to take the job?"

Valenn looked him straight in the eyes and nodded.

"Yes, sir. It will be an honour, sir."

Avon sighed. In his opinion, working with Blake was more like an agonising, nerve-wracking daily experience- but in the eyes of a twenty-five years old promising officer, working close to President Roj Blake -the Lion of Gauda Prime, as he was called these days- would be something like a dream come true.

And Avon was the one who'd mentioned it, anyway; he could still see Valenn's eyes light up with genuine enthusiasm.

Idealistic fools, all of them. Although he had a carefully hidden soft spot for this one, of course.

"This job might lead to much more. You have to remember," he said in his best stern voice, "Blake –President Blake- likes to talk a lot, and you'll have to listen for endless ramblings about his glorious past; he has a staggering memory of every single detail of everything that happened when he was a fighter…"

The young officer –Blake's new personal secretary- smiled.

"Pardon me, Sir, but you too were a fighter," he said and Avon gave him one of his coldest look.

"It's not something I'm particularly proud of."

"Yes sir. I will listen faithfully to President Blake, Sir."

"I don't doubt that," Avon said.

The previous ones had said so, too. They'd even been true to their word for a while but after a couple of months -one of them, more resistant, had lasted half a year- they'd come to Avon for comfort –and *that* had to be the ultimate irony, he thought. Not as much terrified as exhausted by Blake's charisma, his impossibly tight schedules, his inhuman enthusiasm for work, his inability to delegate anything, his constant intrusions in his subordinates' work, his increasingly quick-tempered nature (Avon had seen highly ranked officers shaking like children under Blake's thunderous scolding), his stubbornness. And no matter what Avon would tell them, they just resigned, defeated. Avon sometimes wondered if Blake was aware that these young men and women left his service with their self-confidence completely shattered because they'd failed to satisfy the impossible demands of a living legend.

The Lion of Gauda Prime.

Avon snorted and the young man standing in front of him, politely still, gave him a quizzical look.

"The truth is that President Blake is feeling lonely these days. All those who used to fight with him are dead or scattered around the world…"

Some of them had even made the sensible choice, and resigned –something completely alien to Blake, although he'd reached seventy-eight last month.

"And he's confronted with his own legend; his memories of the heroic times–one might say stupidly suicidal times…" The young man hid a smile, but not quickly enough for Avon to miss it, "you can smile all you want; stupidly suicidal was what they were- those memories don’t match the rising legend; I think he's afraid to be turned him into someone he never was; or maybe he feels like he's being buried alive. Memories you can't share with anyone any more…"

Valenn frowned. "He shares them with you."

"I'm not very good at that. And anyway…" Avon paused, frowning, his expression darkening. "When I'm dead he'll need someone."

The young man extended a hand and rested it on Avon's arm, his hazel eyes so warm and earnest than Avon waited before pushing the hand away.

"Don't let him eat you alive," he said, horrified at the slight catch in his own voice and the sudden surge of affection for the young officer.

He rose, walked around the desk and sighed.

"Well; I did what I could. Now it's up to you, Restal. Make your father proud. Go!"

For a second, Avon thought he was in for a hug but his protégé knew him well enough; he only nodded and walked out. Avon listened to the echo of his boots on the marble stairs and the determined knock on the door of Blake's office upstairs–then Valenn Restal entered the lion's lair and Avon didn't see him again before his ship left Earth, ten hours later.

Avon would be away for three months at least. He'd come to hate those official missions on distant boring worlds; he was too old for this kind of things. The long flights exhausted him, leaving him with very little patience for the fools he had to meet. This time more than ever, he spent long sleepless nights worrying. If Blake didn't take care of his own succession soon, all their hard work would be lost and the Universe would be plunged into chaos again. The officials he met every day were as servile as usual, and eager to stay under Earth salutary authority but behind the smooth façade, Avon could sense the impatience, the rise of an irresistible lust for power and independence. Most of these leaders had been very young when the Revolution had ended; they had no idea of what it had meant, no real memory of what the Federation had been. Not so long ago, some of them had been caught yearning for the old system –those Avon had swiftly disposed of but there were always new ones ready to plan the ruin of the new system and Avon wasn't sure he could stop them forever.

Vultures awaiting the old Lion's death, he thought, ready to dismember what was left of him.

When he got back, Blake was waiting for him in his office, impatient already. Avon sat on the sofa beside him and gave him a short disabused account of his mission –Blake listened to him with his usual attention and said nothing.

When he spoke, it wasn't what Avon had expected.

"That young man you sent me; Vila's son… I quite like him. He's much too good to be only a secretary. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Avon looked down at his hands, noticing how badly deformed by age they were.

"He's a very clever and wise young man."

Blake groaned.

"But very young. And very… stiff. I don't want a soldier to rule the world when I'm gone."

Avon's throat tightened, hope flaring. "What else were we, Blake?"

"Not soldiers, Avon. Fighters. We didn't know much about discipline and obedience, if I recall correctly; especially not you and me. This one... He sometimes lacks flexibility; he doesn't like to bend the rules when it's necessary."

Avon turned to look at Blake –with his thick white hair brushed back, his deeply lined forehead and his still intense gaze, he looked irresistibly like his name –a roaring old lion.

"Restal's very young;" Avon said, "He can learn. All you have to do is teach him those ideals of yours."

Blake rested his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, sighing.

"Yes, I guess I'll have to do this. Then I can die in peace."

Not before I do, Avon thought, feeling more light-hearted that he had for years.

"He's worth it," he added.

"I know. I could see it from the moment he walked in; unlike what you seem to think, Avon, I didn't completely lose my ability to form an opinion. Valenn Restal is just fine for the job. All we have to do is teach him what we know, and find some others like him so that he's surrounded with a reliable team. Although I doubt that he ever finds anyone quite like you, Avon."

Avon didn't even smile.

"I'd say it bodes rather well for his life expectancy."

Blake laughed and Avon couldn't help smiling at the sound of this warm, rumbling laugh. A hand settled on his thigh and stayed there; he didn't push it away.

"Don't sell yourself short, Avon. And stop living in the past."

Which, coming from Blake, was funny.

"Vila would be so proud," Blake said, then "You look tired, spend the night here."

Avon did.

***********************

Two days later, stunning his whole staff, Avon took a day off.

"Do you need me to drive you, Sir?" Blake's chauffeur asked.

"No thanks, I'll manage," he said curtly, hating that they were trying to pamper him.

It was a small garden in a remote place outside of the city, a tomb near a small house that had been Vila Restal's last achievement. Avon remembered how happy Vila had been when he'd bought it, and how he could talk about it for hours –and how boring that had been sometimes.

Avon didn't come here often –the memory was too depressing; he could still see Vila walking up to him with the baby in his arms, tears running down his face, and saying.

"I'm dying. Promise me that you'll look after him, Avon. You owe me that at least."

And after hours of heated discussion and resistance, Avon had surrendered, half out of guilt, half out of genuine affection. At first he'd kept a look on the boy from afar, checking his progresses, forcing his admission to the best schools –despite the revolution and the official abolition of the grade system, the resistance was still strong in the powerful circles of the military and administration. Avon had read every report about the boy and met with him at least once a month, awed at how similar and different from his father the boy was. Clever, brave, thoughtful, and so much more. When Vila's wife died, Valenn came to live at Avon's place; he was barely seventeen. It didn’t mean much; he spent most of the year at the Military Academy, but Avon caught himself leaving work much earlier when Valenn was here and when the boy was forced to cancel a leave, Avon felt no desire to go home at all, sleeping in his office or with Blake in the presidential suite if they were both in the mood.

Now Avon felt like there was nothing more he could teach the brilliant young officer; Blake would take care of the rest, and no matter what the grumpy old President thought, there were some valuable disinterested people around him who would help Restal –Avon had chosen them with great care.

"Blake's right, you can be proud of your son, Vila." Avon said, his gaze on the grave, "I think 'President Valenn Restal' will have a nice ring to it, don't you agree?"

He limped back slowly to the car and drove back home, thinking that it was probably the last trip he took.

That night, Avon slept like he hadn't for almost forty years.

The end


	2. Brothers in arms and other heroes

"If you don't like the way people see you," Valenn told Blake one morning, "why don't you write the story down the way it happened?"

Blake looked at him and shrugged. "It's not that simple. Who would believe it?"

"*I* would. I know for sure that my father wasn't a hero –not in the usual sense of the word."

Blake sighed. When he looked at Valenn, he saw Vila –younger, taller, with a toughness Vila had never possessed. When he looked deeper, behind the mere appearance, he saw a fearless young man with a great deal of moral principles –strange, really, that Avon hadn't tried to work on that.

"You have no idea of how it was, do you?" Blake asked. "Gauda Prime, for example. The way it was between Avon and me."

Valenn shook his head.

………………………

It started for good the day Blake raised his head from the plans he was studying to find Avon standing there, very still, his gaze down; very different from the arrogant Avon he'd once known. This new Avon was wearing regular brown clothes, and looked oddly vulnerable without his leather armour. When he spoke, though, his voice at least was still the same, deep, precise, unyielding.

"I can't get over it," he said, looking straight in Blake's face. "I think it would be preferable for me to leave."

Blake put down his pen and rubbed his eyes, feeling tired. "You can't get over it," he said flatly, and Avon nodded. "I guess by 'it' you mean nearly killing me?"

Avon nodded again, instinctively rearranging the files on Blake's desk, visibly annoyed with the mess. "I think it would be better for the both of us if I left."

Blake kept silent for a moment. "*I* got over it," he said.

"So you keep telling me. I suppose it only proves how incurably stupid you are."

Blake rode the anger as he always did with Avon and sat back, resting his head against the headrest of the old armchair. When he felt calm enough, he said "All right, it's not true, I didn't get over it. I didn't. I still resent you a lot for doing it and it's not likely to stop any time soon. Plus the wounds still hurt, so it's a bit hard to forget. But since I have other priorities, I manage to live with it."

"I couldn't repair Orac. It's destroyed."

So Orac had been the reason for Avon spending all his time alone and as far as possible from anyone. Or had it been a pretext –not that Blake minded; he could do without Avon's presence.

"And I have nothing like the Holy Cause to keep me going, Blake. So if I'm of no use to you, I think I'll just borrow a shuttle and leave."

Blake pretended to think about it. "I could use your expertise, of course. You could work here; it's not a very friendly environment but since when do you care about that? Our communication system is faulty; our computers could do with an upgrade and I've been thinking about equipping the ships with a system that would make them undetectable."

Avon smiled. "Will it be all, Fearless leader?"

"For the time being, yes."

Blake thought of how Deva, and the others, not to mention Vila would react to that; but Avon was too good in his field –he wouldn't let him slip through his fingers. "And Avon? I'd rather have you here than taking the risk of having you captured by the Federation and used against me."

Avon nodded again, briefly. "Yes, I suppose it's a possibility."

Blake bit his finger and looked up at Avon. "So you'll stay."

"I will for now."

***************************

Blake shut up and glanced at Valenn. "You look surprised. Not what you expected?"

"It sounds so… cold. I always supposed you had a deep affection for each other."

Blake got up and walked to the door. Avon's hearing wasn't what it had been but you could never know. "After he lost our ship, one of our old friends…"

"Was it Cally?"

"Yes. After what Avon did to your father, after he shot me … I didn't feel much sympathy for him. It didn't seem necessary since he'd always made a point of disliking me. But at that point, I'd changed enough, matured enough – although probably Avon would laugh at that- to realise that if I wanted to drive this revolution to a successful end, I couldn't afford to ignore someone as useful as Kerr Avon."

Valenn thought of what the legend said… The King and his Faithful Knight, never deserting him, never failing him; their legendary friendship, a bond that overcame everything.

"You're disappointed, aren't you?" Blake asked with a disenchanted smile.

"No. Yes. Ah, I don't know."

"Your father spent quite some time hating him too, you know. Avoiding him as much as he could."

"Why didn't my father leave?"

"He was on the top of the Federation's list of the most wanted criminals; staying with us on the new base on Gauda Prime was safer. And after a while, things got infinitesimally better."

***************************

Blake had been in a hurry that morning; he'd banged open the heavy door of the room where Avon was working, the metal panel hitting the wall with a loud crash, startling Avon out of his concentration.

Avon looked at Blake for a second with raw fury, then rose and walked up to him until they were almost touching. "You," he said, "are going out of here *now*."

Frozen, Blake opened his mouth but no word came to him.

"It's not enough," Avon said, "that I have to work without the adequate equipment in this… closet… in the middle of a constant racket with people talking and shouting and banging their feet; *You* have to barge in here in the middle of my work at any time of the day without enough as much as *knocking*. Don't you have an attack to lead, something that will empty this base and give me the tranquillity I need to finish this very urgent –or so you said a week ago- work?"

Blake wanted to answer but Avon was faster.

"Get out!" he hissed, shoving Blake back until he was standing in the corridor, and closing the door on him.

………………….

"He was right, of course." Blake said. "I wanted the whole system to be ready for the next attack, ten days later and he'd been working on it day and night to meet the deadline. But I kept distracting him, because I was so impatient. I looked stupid, standing in the darkened corridor, with my men looking at me, wondering if I was going to let that pass."

"You couldn't."

Blake sighed.

"No, I couldn't. I couldn't be weak; I couldn't let someone like Avon, who was mostly considered as a reprobate, half a traitor - challenge my authority. On the other hand, I needed Avon to be able to work."

Valenn looked at Blake with an expectant smile.

"What did you do, then?"

"Ah, I called your father."

……………….

"Vila, take his things," Blake said, and, "Follow me, Avon."

Avon followed, while Vila, muttering under his breath, gathered the plans and calculators and all of Avon's tools and walked behind them along the corridors across the base until they reached a door in a relatively quiet place at the other end of the base.

Opening it he pushed Avon inside.

"Put everything on the desk, Vila."

Vila did and after a last look at the men facing each other, walked out, shaking his head in resignation.

"So what now?" Avon asked, haughty again, standing very straight and as usual much too near, "is this my new prison?"

"This," Blake said, "is my room."

Avon gave a look around and raised a mildly disgusted eyebrow at the mess. "I should've guessed."

Blake didn't grace that with an answer.

"You can take the desk; there's nothing important on it. I'm barely ever here in the day and it's the quietest place in the whole base –no one will disturb you and you can work as much and as long as you want."

Avon's look narrowed; he was considering the options.

"Am I supposed to sleep in your bed too?"

"You'll sleep wherever the hell you want, if you even sleep at all."

Avon seemed to think about it, then nodded. Blake watched him settle down, organising his things with this disturbing precision that always evoked neurosis in Blake's mind.

Late at night, Blake came back –Avon was still working. Ignoring him, he stripped and went to bed. It was strange to try to sleep with someone wide awake a few feet away; it felt like someone was looking after him. He woke up before dawn; the room was silent, the light on the desk where Avon worked was still on.

"Get some sleep, Avon," Blake said. "The bed is big enough for two."

He didn't even think he'd be graced with an answer or that Avon would notice him –he was wrong. Avon blinked like a night owl and put down whatever he was working on; rose and crossed the space to the bed, looking more tired than Blake had ever seen him.

"You should take some clothes off," Blake said, and Avon shed the boots, the jacket and loosened the belt of his trousers; then he collapsed on the bed.

"I'm not sure I can do it," he said, "not within the allotted time."

"I could ask Deva to help you; he's good at that kind of job."

The expression on Avon's face spoke volumes –he hadn't bothered hiding his distaste for Blake's friend from the very day he'd met him. "If Grant is available," he said, "I'd rather have him. I know he's here."

"I don't think Grant will agree to work with you."

He rolled on his back and threw his hands over his eyes.

"For God's sake, do you want to defeat the Federation or not?"

After that he fell asleep, and didn't wake up before dawn. Avon slept like he lived; lying very straight, unmoving, arms crossed on his chest, the rapid movement of his eyes clearly visible under his closed eyelids. Blake didn't have the feeling that sleep was bringing him any relaxation. It made him feel a little embarrassed, because his own sleep was much messier; he sometimes even ended on the floor; that night, though, was mercifully quiet.

…………………

"Night after night after night… He worked late. Eventually, Grant agreed to help – after all, Avon had saved his life once. They formed a great team, very efficient, despite their mutual antipathy. At night he worked alone in my room; I went to bed and he joined me later. In the morning I woke up first, showered, woke him up. There's a lot of promiscuity in a soldier's life; men slept and woke up together; our situation was no different."

Valenn cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed.

"I always thought –well, it's what every one thinks, actually – that it went a little further than mere friendship."

Blake let out a thunderous rumbling laugh that ended with a coughing fit. When he'd got his breath back, he said, "But surely from what I said you understand that there was no friendship, in the usual acceptance of the word. I felt very little affection for Avon. He'd always accused me of using him; it's exactly what I was doing. But Avon's feelings toward me… You'll have to ask him."

Valenn laughed. "I certainly won't make such a faux-pas."

"No, you won't. He would freeze you to death with one of his looks… I don't know how he felt. Guilty, probably, but for the rest…" Blake shook his head with a sigh. "Well, to answer your initial question, there was nothing beyond what I told you. Things started to change an incident that happened some days later. But that, my young friend," Blake said, getting up with a groan, a hand on Valenn's shoulder for support, "is a story for another day. I seem to remember that we still have a lot of work to do.

tbc...


	3. Smoke and fire

The Lion was roaring – the doctor backed up carefully.

"When will you let him out?" Blake asked for the third time, "And no more dilatory answers!"

The man swallowed visibly, glancing at Valenn for support; Blake's presence filled the room, eclipsing everything else.

"Five days at most, Sir. It was only a minor alert and we're only keeping him a bit longer for safety."

"You'd better make damn sure he's well before letting him out; he scared the hell out of us."

Valenn remembered the exact moment when Avon had paled, brought his hand do his heart with a shocking expression of pain, his eyes looking for Blake around the room before collapsing on the floor, hurting his head against the table.

"It would be best, of course, if he could rest for some weeks." The doctor suggested.

Valenn could imagine Avon's reaction to that. But Blake was listening intently.

"Tell me the truth, Doctor Mitchell. Do you think he should… retire?"

Dr Mitchell smiled. "I wouldn't go that far and I highly doubt that Mr Avon would agree to that, but slowing down a bit would be advisable. Those long journeys across the galaxies aren't the best for a man in his eighties."

Blake kept silent as Valenn drove the official vehicle through the streets to the Presidential House.

Later they were sitting under a tree in the garden in front of Blake's office.

"He'll be fine," Blake said, his voice a little unsure "He'll come back to us as obnoxious as always."

For how long, Valenn wondered. Both were old men – resistant and tough old men but old nonetheless, testimonies of past days.

"Why didn't he want to see you?" he asked Blake.

"Ah, that? It's an old story. We saw each other on hospital beds often enough; one day we decided we wouldn't any more. I'm merely respecting our agreement."

Except that less than a year ago, when Blake had broken his leg, Avon had slept on the chair in Blake's room. What that meant, Valenn wasn't sure.

A young clerk brought some refreshments – she smiled at Valenn and he smiled back.

"Nice girl, isn't she?" Blake asked.

"Yes sir. Very nice."

"Ah, the curse of being old. Make the most of these years, Restal. Once they're gone…" Blake shrugged in regret.

Valenn had it on the tip of his tongue to mention that considering how much time he spent in Blake's office, he didn't have a lot of opportunities to make the most of anything other than working but bit back the words carefully. "Sir, the other day, when you were telling me about the life on Gauda Prime, you mentioned an incident involving Avon."

Blake laughed. "'An incident involving Avon'! With those words, you could write a very thick book. Yes, I remember mentioning that." He was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "It's not something I would want to forget, although this incident wasn't very different from dozens of others I had to deal with."

………………………………………..

"Blake, I think you should come." Grant was looking miffed and vaguely exasperated.

Blake grumbled something about the impossibility of working in relative tranquillity, but followed. In the second corridor leading to the cafeteria, he had to elbow his way through a group of men. They apologised when they recognised him and let him through.

"What the hell…"

Then he saw Avon, standing against the wall, bloodied, his lower lip split open, his cheekbones rapidly swelling and bruising, his clothes torn, his arm hanging in an impossible position. In front of him were six men who didn't look much better – and in the middle Vila, his fists clenched, pale and furious.

"Is it what the Revolution is about," he said when he saw Blake, "five blokes against one?"

Blake looked at the men – he knew them. Brave, true believers, some of his best fighters – and he felt his anger rise. What the hell had Avon done to provoke them? What unforgivable harsh words had he said?

"Are you going to do something, Blake?"

Blake glared at Vila who didn't seem much impressed. "Take him to the infirmary, Vila; I'll talk to him afterwards."

Vila took Avon's good arm and Avon leaned on him, his lips thinning with pain; Blake took a step forward, thinking Avon was going to faint, but Vila supported him and they walked away together.  
…………………..

"Honestly, my first thought was that Avon, one way or another, deserved it. But then, as I watched him limp away, your father's arm tight around him... I suddenly saw things differently. My oldest comrades – maybe not friends, although I thought of Vila as such – but these two men had been with me from the very beginning. We'd been through things together that none of the men around me could imagine; we'd cheated death together; we'd saved each other's lives a countless number of times, they'd shared my hopes and my disappointments at a time when the Federation was at the top of its power; they'd fought my battles although they didn't want to, they'd searched for me through the galaxy for two years and carried on the revolution for my sake…"

……………….

Blake turned to the men who were standing them and stared at them.

"He started it," one of them said.

Blake didn't even answer that. After a moment, as they were silent, he said, "Five against one? Is that all the courage you can display?"

In the small crowd that had gathered around, a voice broke the silence. "The bastard deserved it."

Blake didn't dignify this with an answer. "Until he stops being useful to our cause, Avon lives here – safe. This is my decision and if anyone wants to fight me over this… I'm waiting," he said, his stance openly threatening, letting his gaze roam over the crowd.

No one moved. It wasn't over, not by a long stretch, but at the moment Blake had other worries. He rushed to the infirmary. Avon was sitting on a bed, the doctor cutting through his clothes to free the injured arm. Vila was there, worried and Avon looked awful. Pulling up a chair, Blake sat in front of Avon. "How's the arm?"

"Broken," the doctor said genially.

"How badly?"

Avon spoke; his voice was weak and tired. "Does it matter?"

Blake frowned. "It does to me."

A smile played on Avon's lips. "Don't worry, Blake; it won't impede my work."

Blake ignored the remark and asked "What happened?"

"They followed him out of your room," Vila said, "and they insulted him – when he faced them they jumped him."

Avon gave him an exasperated look.

"I find it rather flattering that it took five of them to bring me down," Avon said.

Blake looked away from the wounded arm; the surgeon was working on it and Avon was getting paler by the second.

"Can't you give him something against the pain?" Blake asked.

"I'm keeping the painkillers for the battles," the doctor answered coldly.

"But surely one dose won't make such a difference."

Avon opened his eyes. "It's all right Blake, I can stand it. I suggest you go out if *you* can't."

Blake was about to answer that when Vila got up from the bed, pulling Blake aside.

"They said some very nasty things, those heroes of yours. Like why was Avon sleeping with you when there were so many people on this base who can take care of your needs. It was a little blunter than that if you see what I mean."

Blake nearly jumped.

"What? But Avon doesn't sleep with me! I never…"

"He's been sleeping in your room for a whole week; they probably got the wrong idea."

Blake glanced at Avon who had lain down, breathing unevenly while the doctor finished with him.

"He works in my room because it's quieter…"

"Then maybe it's better if he sleeps somewhere else."

Blake mulled it over for a moment. "It was only for a while. Long enough for him to finish his assignment." It was strange how the idea of being bereft of Avon's presence was making him angry. He bit at his finger, looked at Avon again.

"Well, you don't have to convince *me*," Vila said with a shrug.

………………………

"That afternoon, I summoned a meeting with my closest advisors. Vila was here, as a friend, and perhaps because I needed some support. Del Grant was too…"

"Grant? Was he related to Anna Grant?"

Blake nodded. "He was his brother. Did Avon tell you about Anna?" he asked with some surprise.

Valenn blushed. "More or less." He wasn't about to confess sneaking a read of Avon's journal some years ago, just after moving at Avon's place.

"Then you're luckier than I am." Blake said. "Anyway… Grant was there, and so were Deva, and other men I'd chosen to surround me because of their faith in the cause and their efficiency. For a long time, I listened to them complaining about Avon's presence. Avon wasn't a believer in the cause, Avon had tried to kill me, Avon was unbearably arrogant and it wasn't safe to have him here – after all, how could I be sure that he wasn't a spy? The crux of the matter still seemed to be the fact that I spent too much time with him."

…………………………

"Are you certain," Deva asked, "that he's that much of a genius?"

"Ask me again when our pilots come back safe from a dangerous mission because of the improvements he made on our ships. And, by the way, although it's none of your business, I don't sleep with Kerr Avon."

An embarrassed silence fell on the small group, and Blake continued. "I can't begin to imagine why you thought I did, but I don't. If he sleeps in my room it's only because he stops working very late…"

One of Blake's toughest lieutenants cut him short. "And he's too damned tired to walk to his own room? Scared of the dark?"

Blake didn't even give the man a look.

Grant spoke, eventually. "There has been a rumour for a long time about you, and him, on the Liberator. Kerr Avon doesn't believe in the cause we're fighting for, so why would he stay here if not for personal reasons?"

Blake looked at him, hard. "Because he has nowhere else to go? Because he feels like he has to atone for his faults?" Vila raised an amused eyebrow and Blake glared at him. "Who cares? He's here, he's helping, and I'm not going to send him away because his presence offends your virtuous revolutionary spirits."

…………………

"I said that, and it sounded exactly like something Avon might have said. I knew that I was getting defensive; I knew I was defending him against all logic. I turned to Grant, reminded him that Avon had saved his life and the life of millions of people on Albian – he replied that he wasn't sure if the present Avon would still do it; that he had a very nasty reputation…" Blake sighed, shaking his head. "I was starting to get a little desperate."

………………..

"Avon will stay here as long as I need his skills. I'll get him another room where he can work and sleep, and you will leave him alone as long as he doesn't provoke you. I won't tolerate another attack."

Blake was about to get up and walk out, probably even slam the door for good measure when a deep voice said, "I think you should be aware that some of us aren't adverse to the idea of getting rid of him. Selling him out to the Federation would be our choice."

Blake froze, a hand on the door knob, before turning to the man who'd just spoken. Jennes reminded him of Gan; huge and a little slow sometimes, but otherwise very determined; Blake knew that Jennes was popular among the other fighters.

"After all," Jennes said without the slightest bit of humour, "we do need the money and you're passing as a bounty hunter."

Blake wasn't sure if he should laugh in the man's face or hit him; Vila spared him the pain of choosing.

"That's great. How long before the Federation makes him spill everything he knows about us? You stupid oaf!"

"There's a price on his corpse too."

Vila shot the man a disgusted glance. "This revolution is certainly going a bit off track. I wouldn't be very proud to be the leader of this lot, Blake. I bet you miss the Liberator."

……………….

"And yes, I did. I told them so. I told them that I'd keep Avon by my side because he was helpful, because he had unparalleled skills *and* because he'd been a member of the first seven. So had Vila. As such, they were safe here and that I hoped I'd made myself clear? When I left I was furious. I'd been angry, more than I'd been in many years, more than these men had ever seen me; and it was Avon's fault. Avon who'd tried to kill Vila and me and why the hell was I taking so many risks for this man?"

Blake shook his head and looked at Valenn. "The human mind is a perverse animal. I was angry at Avon and I took it out on your father, shoving him away when he wanted to stop me, talk some sense into me - he finally muttered something about me being pathetic and contradictory and left. I think he really deserved a drink, that night. Then I went back to my room and Avon was there, sitting on the bed."

……………

Avon looked up at Blake.

"I shall pack and rid you of my presence."

Blake sat on the bed beside him.

"You won't. You're staying here and I don't give a damn about what they think."

Avon stared at him for a moment. "Oh but *I* do. I won't risk my safety over some useless struggle for supremacy; you can use someone else for that. I won't be sacrificed on the altar of your pride."

Blake sighed. "Do you have to be so melodramatic? It's just that I have no other room to offer you."

Avon got up, wincing at the pain in his arm and picked up his jacket.

"Vila offered to share with me. I'll just have to keep him drunk enough and it will be like being alone."

He obviously had a lot of trouble moving his wounded arm; Blake helped him put on his jacket. Looking at him, he realized he had a beautiful mouth; that his hair was too long and that he had to push it back often, that his gaze wasn't as dark as it seemed, and that he very seldom blinked. Most of the time, he was just an average looking man; but from time to time, unexpectedly, something played on his features that made him handsome in a way Blake couldn't understand.

…………………

"Life in dangerous places, loneliness and the constant brush with danger had made me very flexible about sex. Are you flexible, Restal?"

The young man felt his face flush and managed to shake his head. "I don't think so, Sir."

Blake smiled at the young man's discomfort. "Ah. Well, maybe I was from the very beginning and didn't know it. Anyway… in extreme circumstances, you take what you're offered. I had been very chaste on the Liberator – mainly because I couldn't imagine how I'd deal with a relationship in such a cloistered place; and one night stands weren't really conceivable - but on Gauda Prime, the temptations came at a very low price; I took them."

Blake stopped as the girl walked up to them again, asking if they wanted something more. Her voice, Valenn thought, was like the wind, whispering and soft; she had the nicest blue eyes he'd ever seen… He saw Blake's eyes linger on her legs and higher and frowned; his eyes met Blake's...

"Stella," Blake said, "have you met Valenn Restal, my new secretary?"

This time, they both blushed and Blake smiled, his eyes crinkling with amusement as she walked away.

"Ah, where was I? Yes, I remember…"

…………………….

Blake walked Avon to Vila's room, watched him as he unloaded his things again, following the same obsessive ritual.

"If you're looking for some fun," Avon said when he was satisfied with the look of the desk - I'm certain that your friend Deva will be glad to oblige. The way he looks at you is almost indecent."

"I make it a rule never to fraternise with people on the base."

Avon looked at him, and smiled coldly. "I see. I'm safe then," he said.

With that, he pushed Blake out of the room and closed the door on him. Standing outside, Blake wondered what *that* was supposed to mean.


	4. The lion and the mad dog

"I love Stella and she loves me just as much," Valenn said. Later, he wondered what the hell had possessed him to tell Avon, of all people, about his new-found soul mate.

The fact was that he would've talked about Stella to the devil himself just for the pleasure of saying her name aloud. But Avon…

"Blake's right," Avon said, his voice distant and scornful. "You really *are* very young."

Valenn looked at him and frowned, not understanding what had brought this. "Love has nothing to do with being young or old."

"Young *and* pathetic. Listen, Restal. Here's a fact even your father would've agreed with. Love isn't what you say it is. You say you love that girl and that she loves you 'just as much'. Well, this is impossible."

Valenn stiffened; the defensive posture made him look painfully like his father; Avon looked away but didn't stop his attack. "Only fools believe that love is about getting as much as you give. The truth is, one always loves more. Either she loves you more than you do and you'll make her unhappy; or *you* love her more than she does, and she's using you. Considering how stupid you are in this field, I'll opt for the second solution. It's not you she's with; to her, you're only the closest thing to power."

It wasn't so much the words as the way they were delivered, Avon's eyes shining like coal, his expression pure fury. Valenn had his mouth open to answer; instead, controlling himself, he walked away, slamming the door behind him.

A couple of hours later he was standing in Blake's office. "What prompted this? What does he know about love anyway?"

Blake listened to a shaking Valenn and sighed. "Sit down, Restal," he said.

"He had no right," Valenn said.

"Sit down and listen to me."

Eventually, Valenn obeyed, sitting on the edge of the leather chair in front of Blake.

The old President rubbed at his temples, combing back his white hair. "On Gauda Prime, Avon shot me. As I was recovering, the doctors on the base kept him sedated for a whole week – he'd been badly hurt. My men would've shot him down like a sick animal but Grant convinced them that I had to give my opinion – they had to wait. Anyway, we had a psychologist on the base; he'd worked as a psychostrategist for the Federation before joining us. He ran some tests on Avon and concluded that Avon was suffering of paranoid psychosis. For months, Avon was treated with high doses of anti-psychotic medication."

Valenn was listening avidly – Blake's tone was almost sad, and oddly tender.

"The drugs slowed him down; he had trouble concentrating. When he was working on the communication system, he stopped taking them for that reason. He never had any psychotic fits after that; but sometimes, when you broach very sensitive subjects, the old paranoia raises its head again; I don't think he can help it. Add this to the fact that Avon has never been the friendliest men in the Universe."

Valenn was silent for a moment. "I feel like he tainted my feelings for Stella. What we feel for each other is very pure."

"What Avon felt for Anna Grant was very pure, I'm sure of that."

They looked at each other.

"It's strange," Valenn said, "how in the end everyone seems to have forgiven him. My father forgave him for what happened in that shuttle…"

Blake raised a hand, cutting him short. "Vila told me once that he'd intended to hate Avon forever, but when they started giving him the drugs… Your father had a caring and kind nature, much kinder than any of us; he saw Avon fight madness, he saw him go through terrifying nightmares, curled up in a corner of his room, yelling. He stayed near him until things got better; he told me later that after that, he'd felt unable to hold the grudge any longer."

Valenn thought about that for a moment. "I know I owe Avon because of what he did for me; I admire him for being so damn clever - but I don't like him."

Blake shook his head, and smiled, but his eyes were sad. "No one asks you to; Avon least of all."

…………………..

Ten days later, Valenn was standing in Avon's office, listening to the cutting voice of his mentor.

"I want you to come with me to Albian, Restal. It will be your first official assignment. I will ask you to become… intimate with every detail of the local civilisation – or what passes as such. It's is a friendly world but the new Albian administration applied for independence and we have to be very careful about the treaty we will sign. It will be a first, and a model of those to come, when other worlds will ask for the same thing."

Valenn shook his head. "I understand. Isn't it a little… premature to let Albian walk away from Earth?"

Avon sighed; for a moment he was silent. "It has always been Blake's desire that every world should be allowed to choose its own way, from complete independence to partial autonomy. He thinks the time is right to start the process. Blake wants to give them back the freedom they're entitled to."

Valenn looked at him quizzically. "May I ask your opinion on that, Sir?"

Avon shrugged. "Think about it. Keeping distant worlds under our authority is expensive and nurtures hostility in the long term. I believe it's better to give them what they want rather than having it snatched away from us by force."

"It sounds very reasonable, Sir."

"Sometimes Blake's idealism and my pragmatism do reach similar conclusions."

Avon looked deep into the young man's eyes and added, his voice very neutral, "We'll probably be gone for a couple of months at least. I suppose you'll want to spend some time with that girl you seem to love so much."

Two months; Valenn paled.

"You're not the only one who doesn't like the idea of being away from someone for so long," Avon said. "At least you don't have as many reasons to worry as I have; she's a young healthy girl. We'll work a lot; work makes time pass faster."

…………………………….

Blake was passing Vila's room in the corridor – Vila's and Avon's room. He hesitated and eventually stopped, knocking at the door. Avon opened the door and let him in.

"I'm done," he said, "In less than two days your ships will be equipped with the new system that will make them undetectable. Aren't you happy, Blake?"

Blake closed the door and looked around. "Where's Vila?"

"Gone. He wanted to share what little remains of this liquor with others; I'm not disposed to listen to his idiotic ramblings; I kicked him out in the end… He thinks I'm boring anyway."

There was an empty bottle on the table near the bed, and two glasses; one of them still held a drop of liquor; Avon's gaze was dark and his smile deceptively sweet. "Do you think I'm boring, Blake?"

Steel under velvet – Avon's voice made Blake shiver. "How much of this did you drink?"

"We shared like brothers."

Blake sat down, curiously amused. "I see."

"Do you really?"

Silence stretched between them.

"Do you want us to arrange the details of next week's tests? Are you going to pilot one of the new shuttles like a good fearless leader should?"

Blake looked at Avon's expression, noticing the hooded eyes, the parted wet lips, the hair in disarray. "I don't want to talk about that now, Avon. You're too drunk."

"So what do you want to do?"

Blake stood. "I think I'll let you sleep it off. You're in no condition…"

"Stop being a coward, Blake. I'm not drunk enough to be taken advantage of if I don't want to be."

He was wearing a black woollen shirt and black trousers; he looked feverish and half-gone and Blake had no intention of taking advantage of the man; he was having enough trouble with him already. He had his hand on the doorknob when Avon stopped him, forcing him to turn around.

"Don't be stupid, Blake. We're grown ups, I want it, you want it; I will not tell anyone. What more do you need?"

Blake tried to push him away ineffectively. "It's a question of ethics."

Avon laughed, throwing his head back, showing the curve of his neck – Blake wanted to bite down on it. "I heard a rumour telling that you'd been given a blowjob by a criminal you'd just caught. What kind of ethics is that?"

In a flash, Blake remembered the young man kneeling in the snow, begging for his life; heat rushed across his loins. Avon's hands were warm; his eyes seemed to glow with raw lust. The kiss when it came was hungry and faintly tasting of alcohol. Avon was making those maddening needy noises in his throat; Blake pulled him closer, his hands on his hips, stilling him.

In retrospect, it wasn't much more than a shared hand job but the sight of Avon's face caught in ecstasy added to his own pleasure turned the whole experience into something much more valuable. Avon licked Blake's fingers clean with swift efficiency, his tongue rough as a cat's, and took a step back, smiling, tilting his head on the side. "Was it so terrible?"

Blake pulled him back to him and kissed him again, slowly, tasting every morsel of that luscious mouth, and was kissed back as thoroughly. "No. It wasn't," Blake said, stroking Avon's cheekbone with his thumb and kissing him again, until their lips were swollen with pleasure, biting down on Avon's lower lip, drawing blood, then licking it away.

Then Blake remembered something. "You didn't mix alcohol with anything else, did you?"

Avon didn't seem to hear him; pushed his body against him. "More," he said, "I want more." Hearing the dark undercurrent of need in Avon's voice, Blake forgot any reluctance he could have had and dragged Avon to the bed. They stripped each other with fury, tearing at the clothes, swearing, wanting more naked flesh, more skin to stroke and bite and kiss and rubbed against each other in a maddening slow rhythm, Avon throwing his head back and biting his lips, his fists clenching and unclenching around Blake's arms, bruising him, his body yielding under Blake's assaults as he picked up a rhythm that led them to simultaneous completion -they swallowed each other's cry of pleasure in a devouring kiss.

Blake left very late; Avon was asleep, looking more relaxed than Blake had ever seen him.

It was a coincidence that he met Vila, back from the mess, looking very hazy. "You got Avon drunk, Vila. Not a good idea." Or maybe much too good. A drunken Avon was decidedly much easier to deal with.

Vila leaned against the wall and laughed. "Drunk? You didn't fall for that, did you? He barely had a glass."

"The bottle was empty."

Vila shook his head sadly. "Tell you what, Blake? Avon's no fun. He poured half the bottle down the drain, said he didn't want to be held responsible for my death. I don't understand him; what's wrong with celebrating?"

Not waiting for an answer, shaking his head in disappointment, Vila resumed his uncertain progress along the corridor, keeping a hand on the wall for support and singing very flat the new anthem of the Revolution.

Blake watched him go, wondering who exactly he was supposed to believe and deciding to drop the question. Tomorrow would be busy enough, and he was tired. Answers would have to wait.

…………………………

Two days before they landed on Albian, while they were working in a comfortable office behind the flight deck, Valenn asked, "The staff around Blake… Do you trust them?"

Avon raised his head from the file he was reading; he had been moodily silent all day. Blake's daily call had cheered him up a little – Valenn wondered what they were talking about for so long – but after that he had reverted to his previous dark mood. "As much as I trust myself," Avon said.

Valenn raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

Avon smiled and closed the file. "Meaning not at all," he said. "I trust no one around Blake. There have been enough assassination attempts - some of them almost successful, some of them perpetrated by his own entourage - to make us healthily paranoid. Well, me perhaps more than him."

Valenn didn't let anything show, although he was pretty sure Avon was testing him. After a moment, Avon laughed shortly. "His advisors generally hate each other's guts as much as they adore him. They're constantly keeping an eye on one another; I find it to be a comforting thought when I'm away."

Looking up at Valenn, he said in a softer tone, "Do you know? On Gauda Prime, for a while, I was so afraid I could hurt him that before any moment of… shared intimacy – I assume from the time you spent listening to Blake that you know about that - I injected myself with suppressants; a rather high dose. The good thing was that I was able to let go and not worry about what I might do to him; the downside was that in the morning I had no precise memory of what had happened; just a hazy feeling that we'd both had a good time."

Avon smiled at Valenn's stunned look, and picked up the file again. "I stopped, eventually," he added. "I had to; Blake found out. How someone so generally blind would sometimes be so perceptive always surprised me."

tbc


	5. Truth and lies

They stood for what felt like hours in the cold, surrounded by three dozens Albians officials, waiting for Blake in the main building of the astroport.

Avon had glared at the young officer who'd respectfully brought him a chair but after a while he sat down, pulling his overcoat more tightly around him, and accepted a cup of hot coffee from an old woman all dressed up in grey, her white hair tied tightly behind her head. She smiled at him and Avon – surprisingly - smiled back. They talked for a minute or two, very low – sharing memories of the heroic times, Valenn thought.

Albian had been a shock to Valenn, not only because of the cold, or the arid landscape, or the very stern ethics of the Albian population. What had surprised him most had been the endless standing ovation the Albian democratic assembly had given Avon when he'd first appeared before them. Avon himself had looked embarrassed, and maybe even moved; he'd been almost cheerful all evening and his speech had lacked his usual briskness. Could it be, Valenn wondered, that Avon was more a hero than Blake for the people of Albian? That would be a first, certainly.

A movement among the small crowd of officials started him out of his thoughts. Looking down, he saw Blake's ship land gracefully on the snowy tarmac and seconds later, Blake's burly silhouette was clearly visible, stepping down the gangway, immediately surrounded by people eager to greet him, touch him – and Blake was taking his time, shaking hands, talking, laughing, hugging…

"Look at him," Avon said. "He's so good at that, he loves being with people so much… You should go and rescue him before they smother him to death with their enthusiasm. I'll wait here."

Valenn managed to reach Blake and guided him inside, his worshippers following closely. When Blake entered the building, Avon rose and walked up to him, offering him the cup of coffee he hadn't drunk.

"Ah, Avon, thank you. This is so good. I'd forgotten how cold Albian was," Blake said, smiling at Avon above the rim of the cup. "Where would I be without you?"

Avon didn't feel compelled to answer and they walked to the vehicles, Valenn following. The two men rode to their hotel in the centre of town in separate cars as they always did - Valenn travelled with the Albian escort - but soon after arriving they sat together in a cosy salon next to Blake's room. Valenn sat a little back from them, listening to Avon's summary of the days spent discussing the details of the independence treaty with the Albian government.

"The only thing missing," Avon said, "is your signature at the bottom of the treaty and they'll be free of any tutelage."

Blake looked at him. "It's been their dream for so long; I'm glad that we can make it come true." Avon looked down and Blake added, "Can they afford it?"

"Of course they can't, Blake. I'll give Albian three years before starving to death."

Blake sighed and stretched his legs, yawning, suddenly looking every bit as old as he was. "Did you tell them that?" he said.

Avon smiled. "Valenn spent some very memorable hours trying to shake some sense into them, but they're very stubborn."

For a moment Blake said nothing and Valenn wondered if he'd maybe fallen asleep. "Most of the time," Blake said slowly, "we want freedom so badly that it overrides any rational thinking." He turned to Avon. "You know that as well as I do, don’t you, Avon?"

Avon conceded the point with an infinitesimal nod and Blake sighed again. "We'll have to lower the price of everything we sell them, then. Use a most-favoured-planet trading status to help them go through it. We can't abandon them half-way."

Disagreement was clearly written all over Avon's face, and Valenn felt the same way – if these people wanted their independence, they have to take responsibility for their choice, assume the consequences, make it work. He waited for Avon to say so, but instead of that, Avon sighed. "I suppose," he said, "that it's better than having this world being torn apart by anarchy and finally turning against us. All right; I'll see what we can do."

Valenn looked at him in shock and he was about to protest but Blake got up, stretching again. "It's settled then," he said. "If you don't mind, I think I'll take a nap until it's time for the ceremony… I didn't sleep much during the trip. I don't know how you can bear so many lonely journeys, Avon."

"I hate them, as you're well aware," Avon said, standing. "Now I think we should let you rest."

"Stay," Blake said. "I'm fed up with being alone."

Valenn walked back to his room with a feeling of embarrassment; from Avon's expression, it was a shared feeling ; he didn't want to imagine what men around eighty could still do in bed, but Blake's look under his heavy half-closed eyelids had certainly conveyed less exhaustion than unabashed lust and Valenn could still feel Blake's amused gaze on him as he left, blushing.

**************************

One morning as he left Avon asleep in Vila's room before dawn, guessing his way through the dark, Blake stumbled over the wastepaper bin, its content spilling on the floor. Swearing, he picked most of the stuff. Among the crumpled paper he found a small object he didn't recognise at first. Intrigued, he shoved it into his pocket, finished buttoning his jacket and left. Walking along the dimly lit corridors, he thought of Vila with envy. Vila, at least, didn't have to hide; he could spend the whole night and wake up with the young nurse he'd been so busy seducing during the past weeks. Vila was in love – he was constantly humming and smiling – and the more Blake saw him, the more uncertain he grew about his own feelings, let alone Avon's. He sighed – he'd take what he could, even if it meant shorter nights and stealthy escapes in the darkness of an artificial dawn. Back to his room, he decided he'd grant himself one more hour of sleep.

Waking up later, he changed his clothes - something fell from the pocket of his discarded trousers and Blake, holding it under the light, saw it for what it was. Incredulous, he stared at the small disposable injector, empty of whatever it had contained. Avon had told him he'd stopped the drugs, so what was this? He wanted to dismiss the thought; there were things in Avon's life he didn't want to dwell on, but the question nagged him all day and eventually he went to the base hospital.

Consulted, the doctor accepted to analyse what little remained inside the injector. "Suppressants," he said.

"Suppressants?" Blake looked shocked. "But what would Avon use suppressants for?"

"No idea. I never prescribed this."

Of course, Blake thought as the idea struck him. Of course… He walked out of the infirmary, anger building - a blinding anger that asked for immediate answers. Blake looked for Avon all around the base and finally found him near the shuttle he'd used some days ago. Avon had found some minor flaws in the new communication system and had been working on it for two days already; Vila was helping him. When he saw Blake's expression, Avon frowned.

"Leave us alone," Blake said, glaring at Vila uselessly – one of the things Vila hated most was to be caught, once more, in the middle of a fight between them.

When Vila had gone, Blake pulled Avon apart. "Am I so repulsive that you have to use this?" Blake said, realising as he said the words that his disfigurement had been the issue all along – could Avon still want him?

Avon looked at Blake's furious expression and down at the injector in Blake's palm. "Don't be stupid, Blake. This has nothing to do with you."

"Really? What's worse, Avon? Is it me being scarred and hideous, or is the sex so bad that you have to take suppressants to get along with it it? Oh but I forgot; you don't remember the sex, do you?"

Avon put down the laser probe a little too forcefully and took a deep breath. "I remember having sex with you and being quite… satisfied with it, even if I have to admit that the details are a little hazy. And I still think we should have this conversation somewhere else, Blake. In case you didn't notice, we're not alone."

"I don't give a damn…" Blake said, his voice rising.

"Oh but I do. Let's just go to your room, since you look determined to lecture me to death."

They didn't make it to Blake's room; Blake caught sight of a door in the hall leading to the hangar and opened it, shoving Avon inside. The closet was cramped and dark, they were almost touching. "Tell me now, or I swear I'll hit you."

"Ah! So this is the way you treat your lovers, after all. Beat them up when they don't conform to your standards."

Blake hissed in anger. "You're not my lover, Avon. We merely fucked, and you were drugged; it wasn't even truly you."

Avon didn't even grace that with an answer.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Avon," Blake said, "and you'd better make it good."

"You always had such a charming way with words, Blake. First of all, I don't find you ugly or repulsive and I doubt anyone on this base does – you have your own kind of beauty, Blake, this is something no one can deny you. But if it bothers you that much, why don't you get rid of the scar? You have talented surgeons on this base, obviously…"

"Avon!"

Blake felt Avon stiffen, heard his short embarrassed laugh.

"I injected myself with suppressants because I wasn't sure… I thought maybe I was too dangerous to be let loose around you. I was afraid that… pleasure… would trigger some unfortunate reaction from my part."

Such an admission, from Avon… Blake realised that it had to be true; Avon was too proud to make up such a lie. But what it meant, the implications… Avon probably cared for him, in his own incomprehensible twisted way. "Still," Blake said, "you don't remember, do you? Not the details of what we did? The one who said yes to those things wasn't the real Avon."

"If the real Avon is the one who nearly killed you, I'd rather be someone else. Now let me out of here, Blake – or do you still want to hit me?"  
With that he moved to open the door – Blake grabbed his wrist before he could do it and pushed him back against the wall.

"Back to your old tyrannical self, I see. Or is it some sort of revenge?" Avon said, and Blake pressed against the other man, feeling his rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing.

"Show me," he said, "show me it's not about me."

The place wasn't fit for something very elaborate; it was quick; just the reassurance that Avon wanted what Blake had to offer. The kiss before they parted tasted of blood from where they'd bitten their lips to keep it quiet.

"No more of this, Avon," Blake said.

"As you wish, Fearless Leader. But if something happens…"

"Nothing will happen that we don't want."

"You sound very sure of that," Avon said. "Now, if you don't mind I have work to do and I can't very well spend the whole day here."

"But tonight, I want the real Avon."

"Let's hope that you don't come to regret this decision," Avon said with a tired laugh.

"Well, if I do, you can tell me 'I told you so'."

Avon glared at him. "Your sense of humour is, as usual, appalling." he said.

****************************

It was late, too late for old men to be still awake. Blake was telling his hosts about the way Avon had saved Albian, forty years ago. Avon, who was standing a little further, saw one of the children who had accompanied their parents brush his fingers against Blake's arm in sheer adoration and turned further away.

He sighed. "He really has a way with words. And he loves it," he told Valenn, "he loves telling the story over and over; and strangely enough, people never seem to get tired of listening to him. This is a mystery to me."

Valenn looked around - Avon was right, Blake had a captive audience.

Avon shrugged and leaned back against the pillar. "I remember it," he said. "I remember the elation and the feeling of triumph when the countdown stopped. The satisfaction of a job well done, something that no one else could've done, maybe. Saving all these people's lives, and Grant's, who hated me. It was truly a feeling of pure happiness."

"And Blake waited for you. He must've trusted you a lot. He could've teleported and waited for you on the Liberator."

Avon shook his head. "Not Blake. After what had happened to Gan, he would've died there rather than abandon us. He should've let your father go, though; it didn't have to be a collective suicide. If I'd failed…"

"He knew you wouldn't."

"Don't be a fool; he had no way to know that. It was just a foolish grand gesture of selflessness like Blake loves them. Now, you'll do as you like, but I'm going to bed. You'll take care of Blake."

They left the day after; the dawn was dark and heavy with snow, the farewells seemed to stretch forever; everyone wanted a last word from the heroes of the Revolution - Avon was growing impatient. Due to Blake's excessive friendliness, they were several hours late, and he was tired. "Let's go, Blake," he said. "Even a ship is better than this place; and we should have have broken orbit already."

Blake turned to him. "Spoilsport," he said, smiling. "All right, we're going now. Do you think we could change our plans though and travel together in my ship, just this time? I don't think anyone will try to kill us now; it's useless; time is doing it quite effectively. They just have to wait until it's over."

Avon hesitated.

"Valenn can have your ship for himself and spend the time on the com with his Stella," Blake said.

"A whole week with you in the middle of nowhere" Avon said, "might just be too much for my very limited patience."

"I'll take this for a yes," Blake said, feeling suddenly very happy; and just as he turned to tell Valenn about their decision, Avon's ship blew up.

tbc...


	6. Uncertainty

Wherever Avon looked, Vila was standing, staring at him, dressed in his inconspicuous brown clothes, his eyes filled with the unbearable knowledge of all of Avon's lies, all of Avon's betrayals, mistakes, failures, madness, mercilessly thrown into Avon's face. "You're dead," Avon whispered, "Leave me alone."

Still the look didn't falter - a punishment Avon couldn't escape, couldn't avoid, couldn’t ignore, couldn't hide away from.

"I eventually trusted you, Avon, and you failed. Once more."

Avon opened his mouth to protest but before he could speak a hand shook him - gently at first, then more forcefully.

"Come on, Avon, wake up; it's me, Blake."

The voice penetrated the dream, and shattered it, but the terrible feeling of guilt, the claws clutching at his heart, didn't go away – he rested his hand there, trying to breathe, as a glass was pushed between his lips. "Drink this, Avon. You'll feel better."

Avon opened his eyes and met Blake's worried gaze. Taking the glass from him, he looked at the transparent liquid and asked, suspicious, "What is it? Are you trying to drug me, Blake?"

Blake sat heavily beside him. "Just drink it, please; you'll feel better afterwards. Believe me, you need it."

Avon would have argued but he was so tired... He drank and closed his eyes, resting his head against a cushion – someone, probably Blake, had helped him lie down. "How's Valenn?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Stable. A medical ship just took off from Earth; it will meet us halfway. He should be fine. There's been miraculously little internal damage, and the brain responds normally."

Second after second, Avon felt the grip around his heart ease, and the terrifying aftermath of the nightmare seemed to fade somehow. He finished his glass and put it down on a low table, then straightened up with some effort. It had been twelve hours since the explosion that had blown up the ship, killing the crew as well as some Albians who were standing too close and injuring Valenn Restal badly. Blake and Avon had been miraculously spared, except for the shock and the fact that the noise of the explosion had left them mostly deaf for three hours. Of course, Blake had wanted to pay a visit to the wounded at the local hospital, and to the family of the dead Albians while Avon, frozen in shock, stayed by Valenn's side. He had opposed the young man's transfer in a local hospital; he had no faith in Albians medics. Blake's doctor, who always travelled with him, examined Valenn, making sure he could be moved before transporting him inside Blake's ship where the sick bay was perfectly fit to keep him safe until they reached Earth. "What happened?" Avon asked, "I remember standing near Valenn's bed…"

Blake sighed. "You passed out and started to get very agitated. The doctor gave you a sedative and you slept for several hours. You were asleep when we took off. How do you feel?"

"Too old for this. You?"

Blake shrugged. "Weary. Why did they do that, Avon?"

Avon snorted and looked at him. "I take it that our so-called experts decided it was no accident. What did they find out?"

"Not much. They're working on what's left of the ship…" Blake said, "not that there's much to work on, but they might be able to tell us the kind of explosives they used, the exact place where it was located and *when* they put it there."

Avon frowned, back to business. "Because we can't completely rule out the fact that it might have been put there on Albian. By whom remains to be found. As for the other question…"

Blake looked at him. "Which one?"

"The one you didn't ask yet; why target my ship, and not yours?"

Blake shook his head. "Maybe they're after you because they think if something would happen to you, I'd be unable to go on."

Avon almost laughed at that. A stupid idea if he'd ever heard one. It didn't matter how much Blake… loved… him; Blake had something else to keep him going. Wasn't it ironic? He couldn't go on without Blake but Blake, no matter how badly hurt, would stubbornly go on without him until exhaustion killed him.

"Or maybe it was a mistake and they chose the wrong ship…"

Avon sighed impatiently. "Or we were so careless and… enthusiastic that someone understood that Valenn was your designated successor and decided he was the next target."

"That too," Blake said.

"You certainly understand, Blake, that it's the most probable theory, don't you?"

Blake was looking at him and Avon read the sadness in his eyes, and wanted to erase it; a sad Blake meant an enormous stock of problems – guilt to deal with, improbable amounts of alcoholic beverage to share, long disjointed rambling to endure and sleepless nights with a worried Blake. At least I have my own cabin, Avon thought, then - who am I fooling?

Blake got up. "You should rest, Avon. You look awful."

Avon glared at him. "You don't exactly look like a spring chicken either. I want to see Valenn first and after that, I want to read the reports, all of them." And I don't want to sleep; not before I'm sure Valenn will survive, whole, body and mind. I don't want Vila in my nightmares looking at me like he did after that trip on the shuttle, like I'd betrayed the last glimpse of faith or trust he had in the universe.

Blake gave him a long look. "It's not your fault, Avon."

"Of course not. I know that."

True to his word Avon did not sleep. Blake had not been exactly cheerful and since he had not asked Avon to join him for the night, Avon had retired to his own room early, but sleep would not come. In the middle of the night he gave up the fight against insomnia, and went looking for Blake. Maybe he could just crawl in his bed if he was asleep – it had taken him a long time to acknowledge the fact that he slept better with Blake nearby and longer still to act on it.

But Blake was awake, sitting at his desk, frowning, flipping through the reports he kept receiving from Earth. He barely looked up.

"You should get some sleep, Blake. It won't help us when you collapse with exhaustion," he said, mindful of his own words.

"I know my limits quite well, thank you, Avon," Blake said "and a little extra work won't kill me. I survived worse."

Avon was silent – sometimes he wondered if Blake was being deliberately cruel or if he was just imagining the intention behind the words. His silence warned Blake that something was wrong; Avon generally answered this kind of cutting remark with one of his own.

"Say it, Avon," Blake said, "whatever it is you came to say."

It would sound stupid now to tell Blake that he'd only come to sleep beside him, and humiliating, considering the stormy mood Blake was in. He sighed – something else had been nagging him. "I'd like to run a security check about that girl, Stella. The one Valenn is so ensnared with."

Blake looked up, and pushed the files away. "Stella."

"Did your memory get so bad that you don't remember who she is?"

"I remember very well who Stella is," Blake said. Silence stretched between them. "Avon. Stella's barely nineteen; she's truly in love with Valenn, they're getting married in a couple of months. She's the last person who'd want to see him dead. I had her on the com; she was so distraught that I allowed her to board the medical ship."

"You're insane," Avon whispered. "We don't know anything about how sincere her love is – for all we know she might be an accomplished actress, or she could've been manipulated… Whatever."

Blake nodded slowly. "As you know, because you were the one who devised the security system, Stella's life has been thoroughly investigated; your men still run security checks on her more often than necessary. She has nothing to do with this. Let it go, Avon."

Avon closed his eyes, feeling very tired, suddenly, and not aware of Blake's gaze on him. After a while, he heard him say, "I think I'll go get some sleep now." The noise of the chair being pushed away. "My back's killing me." Another ruffling through papers. "Will you join me?"

Avon felt an irresistible impulse to refuse – to punish Blake for being too clairvoyant and knowing him too well. But it would be more about punishing himself… He got up slowly, dizzy with tiredness, and followed Blake to bed.

****************************

Having Avon – drugless – was an experience like no other. Scratch it, Blake thought, you didn't *have* Avon.

Avon was true to his word; he joined Blake in his room that same night, his body humming with tension and wariness and violent lust and when they kissed, Avon knotted his fists in the fabric of Blake's shirt and held tight, like a man scared of drowning.

They both drowned. Blake had to manoeuvre carefully; what Avon didn't crave, he hated with a passion. The exploration of Avon's body proved an exciting but perilous journey. It would've been easier, Blake thought, with restraints, just to avoid being hit, slapped, punched and insulted in the crudest terms he'd ever heard when he dared a move that didn't please Avon. At some point, Blade would probably have kicked back, but he realised, when Avon turned his head to the light, that what lay in those eyes was fear and anguish more than anything else. Eventually he got Avon on top of him and just lay there, saying, "Do what you will. I'm open to anything." The flare of Avon's nostrils worried him but after that Avon bent to his task with his usual focus and Blake yielded to him until his body was so taut with lust that he couldn't stand it. Sex then turned into a furious fight for dominance; they fell from the bed and Blake gained the upper hand for a while. Later, before dawn, he offered Avon his revenge.

At dawn, or what passed for it in the underground base, Avon tried to crawl away, go back to his own room, keep up the pretence. In the light, his lips were swollen and faintly bruised; there was a lump on his forehead from when he'd fallen on the floor. Blake sighed.

"Stay. I'll tell the others. I don't feel like lying any longer."

***************************

"What's so funny?" In the darkness of the cabin, Avon voice sounded still as young and icy as it had so long ago.

"Thinking of us, back in the old days," Blake answered. He couldn't very well tell him how he was remembering Avon crawling on the floor to get away– and his own hands, grabbing him, pulling him back … Avon didn't like to be reminded of his own madness.

"I'm glad it was so amusing to you."

"Not all of it was. Just some days."

Avon huffed. "I don't want to know what it was. Now if you don't mind, I'd rather sleep."

************************  
Blake was sitting on the bed, watching Avon as he dressed up with meticulous care, still damp from his shower. After a moment, he gave Blake a sidelong look and said in an unusual self-deprecating manner, "So? Are we back to suppressants?"

Blake started. "No. Of course not."

Avon nodded, unconvinced. "It was good then, for you?" Not looking at him.

Good? Blake thought. No. Not good. Exhausting. Exciting as hell, and the pleasure had been like nothing Blake had ever experienced… But doing this every night? He didn’t think he would want to. He didn't think he *could*. He opened his mouth to say something but the words wouldn't come.

"This, I guess, settles the question," Avon said, back to his haughty self, hiding whatever there was to hide with perfect ease. But not perfect enough for Blake, now.

"When you feel up to it, you can summon me to your bed," Avon said, something like hatred in his voice – but surely, Blake thought, surely it couldn't be hatred.

Avon would've gone then but Blake reached for him, pulling him back down on the bed, careless of Avon's glare, and dragging him into a kiss. "Stop fighting me, goddammit!" he said against Avon's stubbornly closed mouth. And, turning his head away, Avon said, "It's not you I'm fighting."

For days after, they didn't meet again. Blake was too busy meeting with other rebel leaders and Avon kept out of his way, working day and night on a restive program in the shuttle navigation system. In the end, Blake said nothing about Avon and him to the others; as long as it stayed what it was – a one night stand – it wasn't worth a conflict with the rest of the army. Grant, though, kept giving him suspicious glances, looking more stubborn still than he usually did and Vila didn't even hide his knowing smile. That had Blake wondering if Vila was blessed with an incredible sixth sense, or if, more simply, he'd been on the receiving end of Avon's confessions. He realised that he had no idea, the incident on the shuttle notwithstanding, of what Avon's relations with Vila were.

He got a better understanding of it the day Avon, taking everyone by surprise, declared that he would be the one to test the new shuttles, not only in flight, but during a flight near the enemy's ships.

"It's suicide," Grant said, banging his fist on the table. Avon was sitting in front of them, like a suspect in a tribunal; he didn't look worried in the least.

"No. If the system is working, it's not. The shuttle will be absolutely undetectable, no matter what kind of instrument they're using. They won't see me."

Grant mumbled something in that thick voice of his and shrugged.

"Blake?" Avon asked, his expression neutral.

"Why does it have to be you? I could assign someone else to this mission; especially if it's as safe as you tell us."

Avon thought about it for a moment. "No," he said. "I'm the one who devised the system. I know it better than anyone, I'll be able to make a correction if something goes wrong. And believe it or not, I love to see a job well done."

Grant couldn't deny this; he had a very vivid memory of Avon's reaction when he'd finally defused that bloody bomb on Albian; his delighted laugh, the sensuous tone of his voice – sounding exhilarated and happy, almost like a lover.

"I'll do it." Avon said again, daring anyone to contradict him.

"I'll be monitoring you from here," Blake said. "In case something happens."

Avon looked around the table. "I'd rather it was Vila," he said. And when Blake started to protest, he said, "I've been working with Vila for four years; we… understand each other. And I trust him to warn me about any danger soon enough."

Eventually, Blake surrendered, less than gracefully. He would be near Vila, of course. He'd hoped, more or less, that Vila would refuse to be involved, but to his surprise, Vila agreed, almost enthusiast at the idea, explaining that as much as he loved Jem – that was the name of the nurse he'd fallen for - an infirmary wasn't the right kind of place for a man like him.

"And as long as I don't have to fly in the bloody thing…"

Blake walked Avon to the shuttle. "Anything wrong and you're on your way back."

Avon nodded and turned to walk away, but before he could take the first step, Blake grabbed his arm, pulling him into a tight embrace, and kissed him. This time, Avon's mouth yielded against his and Avon's hands clutched at his shoulders with bruising intensity – but the kiss was sweet and long and deep, Avon opening himself to whatever kind of exploration Blake wanted. When they had to part, they were both panting and hard. Blake took a step back, still holding Avon's hands.

"Give us a chance, Avon. Give us time to make it work out."

Avon nodded, glancing pointedly at his gloved fingers held in Blake's hands – Blake let go.

Blake walked back to the others, giving them all a challenging look, daring them to say anything. Grant had turned a deep shade of red and Deva – well, Deva would probably lecture him to death later. Only Vila looked happy and Blake took some comfort in this. "Let's go," he said, "and see how he manages."

Of course, Blake's understanding of Avon's plan came too late, and when it dawned on him what Avon had in mind, there was nothing else to do than watch, and pray.

tbc...


	7. Still waters

"Your father was always the most perceptive of us all. The only one who noticed the details that mattered," Blake said, his voice rough with the lack of sleep.

Valenn turned his head to look at him. "You don't talk about him much. I know he liked you a lot."

Blake looked down. "Yes, and so did I. Avon was his favourite. They were very protective of each other, in their own way. Your father fussed around him a lot and although Avon was often… harsh with Vila, I think they really had that understanding Avon mentioned. Vila was a smart man. He was a good friend."

Valenn nodded gravely, turning his head to catch sight of a bird landing on the tree in front of the window, and sighing.

Blake had been coming every day, spending an hour or two with the young man, talking with him about work, telling him stories of the glorious past, distracting him.

"How's Avon?" Valenn asked – and Blake knew what he was asking. Why doesn't he come to see me?

"Working a lot. Catching up. He spent a lot of time with you when you were unconscious. You had him very worried; it's been a long time since he I saw him looking so defeated."

Valenn was silent for a moment; then he said, in a quiet, non-condemning tone, "It's easier for him to deal with unconscious people, I suppose."

Blake nodded. "I suppose so. You know… I think he might have a lead about who did it."

"You mean someone who's not Stella?"

Blake laughed. "It was the prejudice speaking; he had a lot of trouble with beautiful women – they had a hard time with him too. I'm sorry he was so… thoughtless."

Valenn seemed to think this over. "It's OK, I know him. You said my Dad was perceptive…. What did you mean?"

***********************

"I should've known," Vila said, his gaze not leaving the screen. "He's been wearing leather again."

The detail had escaped Blake. He had to think for a moment and remembered black trousers and a black leather jacket without any ornament, making Avon's skin look almost white, the smell of leather when they'd kissed. He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Vila looked at him with compassion. "He's back on the warpath."

Blake frowned, staring at the screen… The shuttle was now very near the small convoy of ships – eight pursuit ships and a cruiser. Military, from what Blake saw, and Avon was rushing towards them.

"The warpath?"

It was Grant who answered, one of those rare perceptive moments delivered in his usual thick monotonous voice. "He's going to attack them. Destroy the cruiser."

Blake looked at him, stunned. "It's suicide; using both laser cannons would drain all the energy of the ship, it would take him a minute at least to recover – not to mention that the invisibility system would be down…"

The shuttle looked very small and very vulnerable, now; circling the cruiser like an annoying mosquito, and Blake's heart sank. They're right. He's going to do it, and die.

"Avon wouldn't commit suicide," Vila said.

Blake glared at him "Looks to me like it's exactly what he's doing."

Blake leaned forward and talked to Avon. "Avon, answer me, man. Turn back; it's too dangerous. Even if you manage to blow the cruiser up, you won't be able to make it back to the base. It's not worth it, Avon."

The silence lasted for a couple of seconds, then Avon's voice reached them, oddly passionate in spite of its coldness.

"Oh yes, it is. If you knew who's aboard the shuttle, you'd think so too."

Blake shook his head, loose curls moving around his head. "Nothing's worth losing you for some goddamn Federation official."

The unsteadiness in Avon's voice when he answered had Vila shivering. "But I have to do it, Blake. Can't you see? It's Servalan – Sleer, as she's called these days – she's aboard this ship. I have to get rid of her once for all. She has to pay – for Cally, for the Liberator. For Terminal. For the things she took away from us…"

Blake looked up at Vila, who grabbed the communicator. "Avon, you're not even sure it's her."

This time, it was Avon's laugh, laced with scorn and cold despair. "What do you think, Vila? You think I'd waste such a perfect opportunity on some faceless nameless Federation minion? Blake's right – it wouldn't be worth it. But Servalan…"

Vila watched as the shuttle seemed to dance among the other ships, coming close, so close… Invisible to them, but looking so small and vulnerable to him. "You can't be sure she's aboard."

"I am. Ask Orac."

Blake and Vila looked at each other, stunned speechless. 'He's lost it', Grant mouthed to Vila.

"Orac's broken, Avon. Don't you remember?" Vila asked, trying to hide his anguish.

Avon laughed. "In spite of being a little unstable, I'm not completely mad, Vila. Orac's fine and working for me; I asked him to look for any sign of Servalan anywhere nearly two weeks ago..."

Blake wasn't sure he understood; he wasn't sure he believed Avon, but he certainly wasn't going to let him die for some useless late act of atonement. He pushed away the questions he wanted to ask about Orac, focusing on the problem at hand.

"Avon, turn the shuttle around and come back. Even if you manage to blow up the ship, they'll have you. And us as well. You may not care about it, but think, Avon! It's a shuttle; it has a limited range. The Federation will know what it means, they'll look around for a base – they'll find us, Avon."

"It leaves you enough time to install a new base elsewhere."

Blake clenched his fists, fighting a growing, blinding rage at his own helplessness and the other man's stubbornness, remembering that anger would only fuel Avon's determination. "Of course not. Don't be stupid, Avon. Come back. There's still time."

The silence lasted far too long; he'd almost lost hope when the words finally came. "But I'm so close; I'm so very close, it would be so easy, Blake. You'd be rid of her… And I'd be free. In the end, Death is the only freedom."

"Another one will take her place. I'm fighting a system, Avon, not a person."

"Oh but I am fighting a person. I want to kill Servalan, Blake. I need to kill her to be whole again."

Vila shrugged. "Like he's ever been whole to begin with," he said between clenched teeth.

"I owe you that at least, Blake. I owe it to Cally, and the others. She trapped me on Terminal with an image of you; did you know that? I lost everything to an image of you; you weren't even here and Servalan stole everything I had."

"Then maybe it's me you should want to kill."

Not like he didn't already try, Vila thought.

"Enough!" Blake said. "Enough of this nonsense. Come back, Avon, now!" Hoping that his tone conveyed enough authority and strength to subdue Avon. "Now, Avon. Turn back. We'll take care of her later. Come on!"

For a couple of seconds, he thought Avon wouldn't comply.

"Come on, Avon," Vila whispered, his eyes glued to the screen. When finally the small ship turned away and headed forward after a last brush against the cruiser, Blake let out a deep shuddering sight. Turning to Vila, he said, covering the com with his hand, "He said he had Orac. Go and find it. Bring it back here."

**************************  
"What did you do then?" Valenn asked.

Blake stretched his legs, basking in the warm afternoon sun that bathed the room.

"I waited for Avon to come back. What else?"

"Were you angry?"

I thought about him lying about Orac, then lying about the real reason for wanting so much to make the flight, on that exact day. I thought about him lying to me and making me look like an utter fool. Blake smiled. "Angry? This is quite an understatement, young Restal."

************************

Two hours later the shuttle came to a standstill – a very graceful landing for someone who wasn't a professional - and Avon emerged, pale and shaking. He walked up to Blake without a single look around and stopped in front of him, so close that a single step would have brought them together. "I might never forgive you for this, Blake," he said in a feral hiss. "Do you realise the opportunity we just missed because of your stupid, foolish, knee-jerk sentimentality? Do you?"

Avon's darkened gaze, his frozen tone, his aggressive stance triggered something in Blake's mind, something raw and violent – he felt like beating Avon into a pulp and raised a clenched fist. Avon's cold look crucified him.

Taking a step back, Blake looked at the other men standing there. "Out!" he roared, and Deva took a step forward, frowning in worry, while Vila cautiously stepped back. "I said out of here! Everyone! Leave us alone."

Vila pulled Deva out of the room, shaking his head. "Let them settle this together."

The door closed and Blake locked it from inside.

"So Orac works. It was never broken."

"It was broken. I fixed it, of course." The metallic tone of Avon's voice, the bitter scorn pushed Blake's anger over the edge.

"You lied to me, from the very beginning. I think this," he said, stepping back and grabbing a thick metal bar standing against the wall, "deserves a punishment."

For the first time, Avon looked worried – scared. Blake tightened his grip around the bar, letting hours of anguish take possession of him. He raised the bar, his eyes shining like burning coal, and Avon stepped back, looking around for a weapon. In a second Blake turned around swiftly and taking two steps to the table where Orac was sitting, he brought the bar downonce, and twice, and again, barely hearing Avon's shout of protest, until there was nothing left of the computer. Then, covered with sweat, shaking with unleashed fury, he threw the bar down at Avon's feet and said, "This time you won't be able to resurrect your toy."

 

Avon did not move, looking at Blake , unable to believe what had just happened. He wanted to talk but Blake said "shut up! Just shut up! And don't you dare come near one of my ships ever again."

************************

"And I got out," Blake said with a short laugh, "absolutely thrilled and triumphant and feeling powerful. Almighty."

"Euphoric." Valenn said, wondering if that had been the first of Blake's legendary fits of anger, something he had become notorious and that still managed to scare people around him.

"Leaving Avon speechless, and stunned, and without a clever retort was too rare not to be enjoyed. Of course, as you guess, the feeling didn't last. I walked past Deva and a group of men, I saw their stupefaction and Vila's incredulity. Orac was a valuable asset; I'd deprived the revolution of something useful. Yet I couldn't bring myself to regret it because if I hadn't brought down the bar on Orac, I might've brought it down on Avon. And that would've been the ultimate mistake; the thing I would never have forgiven myself for doing."

*********************

The knock on Blake's door came earlier than he'd expected; he barely looked up when the door opened and Avon stepped in.

"Your rabble is questioning your sanity, Blake, and I admit I am too," he said, leaning against the door.

"Same old, same old, Avon. You always accused me of being quite mad, didn't you?"

Avon closed the door behind him and came to sit down carefully in front of Blake, the desk between them. Blake barely looked at him, following with his index finger a line traced on a complicated map.

"I'd left Orac behind as a tool for your foolish cause, you know."

"Had you really? Well, I didn't want it."

"This is stupid, Blake. Orac was precious."

Blake pushed the plan away and leaned forward, his gaze drilling into Avon's eyes. "You lied to me, played me for a fool. You used me, and this base, and my men, for something foolish and suicidal – to tell you the truth, I think you are the craziest one of us both, have been for quite some time, now. And to make things worse, you covered up your betrayal with sex."

Avon frowned. "The sex had nothing to do with it, Blake."

Blake glared at him. "Please, don't make it worse, Avon. I know you."

"Do you really?" Avon sounded bitter and tired. "It doesn't matter. I'm leaving."

Blake shook his head. He had expected that. "I don't think so. The things you know, the secrets you're aware of… I won't take such a risk. If the Federation catches you, all the people here are as good as dead. I'm afraid, my dear Avon, that you're stuck with us until victory."

Avon stiffened, his eyes dark and shining with anger. "Do you think you can keep me as a prisoner, Blake?"

"No, Avon. I think you'll get over this, stay willingly and go on helping us."

"If you wanted help, you should've kept Orac."

"It was a choice between him and you – I chose the more human of the two."

Avon got up, mustering as much dignity as he could, and headed for the door. With a hand on the doorknob, he hesitated. "About what you said earlier, Blake… I used you, and planned Servalan's execution – and it would've worked, damn you! – but I never used the sex as a tool."

"Does it really matter?" Blake asked, frowning, biting the first knuckle of his finger.

"Yes," Avon said. "It does." And he stood there, his spine very stiff, visibly about to say something more.

"Next you'll be telling me you love me," Blake said with heavy irony.

Avon turned to watch him, unblinking. "Well, Blake, I thought it went without saying."

When the door slammed, Blake was still standing here, his mouth open, Avon's words hanging in the air.

Later, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't stop thinking about Avon's words, and the more he did, the more uncomfortable he felt. Avon loved him; he'd – almost – said so. Love – from Avon – was something he'd never expected and certainly never wanted. He felt the impulse to go to Avon's room and be honest with him about what he felt; he thought he owed Avon that, at least. But did he really need to? Blake supposed that Avon had known from the very beginning and without a doubt that there was not enough place left in Blake's heart for love. The cause was first and foremost. Avon had to know now that he could expect affection from Blake – but not love. Oh and the sex had been very good, of course – not like he was going to have any more of that in a near future, of course.

***********************

Valenn had fallen asleep, too tired to stay awake any longer. Blake stood up, clutching at the armrest to get leverage, his legs and his back painful. Coming closer, he brushed a strand of hair back from the young man's forehead and looked at Valenn's peaceful sleeping face. So innocent. Vila had looked that innocent in sleep. He sighed.

"Are you ready? The chauffeur's waiting," Avon's voice said behind him. Blake hadn't heard him come in. He turned and smiled.

"You look tired, Blake. Are you all right?"

Blake took his arm. "Quite. And I will feel better still when I'm home with you."

Avon gave him a wary look. "Home? Since when…"

"Don't be difficult, Avon, let's just go."

That night, remembering these moments, so long ago, he wrapped his arms around Avon and pulled him close, feeling his lover's body surrender and yield in sleep. Blake fell asleep with a contented sigh.

tbc...


	8. Fired

The deafening sound of a shot, reverberating through the whole building, had everyone rushing down the stairs. In spite of the cane and a still painful back, Valenn was first at Avon's door, trying very hard to convince himself that Avon wouldn't do that. 

A guard pushed the door open and Valenn stepped in. "Oh my God," he whispered, "Avon…"

He saw other guards joining in, one of them raising his weapon uncertainly – Valenn stepped in front of him. "Are you mad?"

"With all due respect, Sir…" Valenn wasn't used to be called that; he almost blushed, "I think he's the mad one."

Valenn was about to step forward to the armed, still man, when a voice boomed from the door.

"Put this weapon down, Avon," it said, and Blake was in the room, filling it, sucking all the oxygen out of it, and waving the guards out of the place. They hesitated and he glared at them; they walked out reluctantly. "Avon, do you hear me?"

Avon was still looking at the man lying on the floor, shot right in the head – a very precise aim, Valenn thought, feeling his feelings for Avon shift once more from half-concealed hostility to sheer incomprehension.

"Put the weapon down, Avon," Blake said a little more sternly, and was obeyed. Shaking hands lay the gun on the desk. Valenn stepped back, letting Blake take charge, his gaze constantly drawn back to the body of Brann Vallis lying on the floor, blood oozing from the hole in his forehead. He looked back at Avon's frozen, expressionless face.

"I don't think you did this in self-defence?"

"Of course not," Avon said, sounding almost insulted.

"Was it him?" Blake asked, coming to stand next to Avon, not looking really upset, just very sad and somewhat sick.

"It appears he took Restal's certain ascension the wrong way. A young man, a Delta, someone who hadn't proved anything pushing him into the background… He'd been so sure you'd choose him in the end."

Blake nodded. "You're certain he did it," he said; it wasn't really a question.

"Yes, I am. The inquiry was quite conclusive, and believe me, I wished it was otherwise. "

For a moment, they looked at each other, gazes locked, things passing between each other that didn't need words. Valenn stared, stunned at how impassive Avon looked. He didn't look crazy and Valenn wondered if this allegedly unstable man wasn't just what he looked like now: a ruthless assassin – a murdering bastard, he'd heard someone say once - and if he was, what part of that was due to his years in Blake's rebellion? It appeared to him much more clearly how the relation between the two men was woven with as much rancour as affection.

"You'll have to fire me, Blake," Avon said, as the guards disposed of the body. "You can't keep me by your side now."

Was that the reason why he'd done it? Valenn saw his own suspicion mirrored in Blake's eyes.

"My old friend," Blake said, coming to stand by Avon, their shoulders touching, "I'm afraid I'm just unable to do so."

Avon looked at the blood-stained tiles and shrugged. "I'm an old man and I'm tired. This was the last thing I did for this government of yours.”

Valenn saw Blake bristle; when he spoke he sounded angry. "Because you think… this… summary execution of a friend is a service you're doing me?"

"If you don't see it, Blake," Avon said, "then you're being more stupidly blind than I thought you capable of."

When Avon walked out, Valenn heard Blake say, "You're right. I'm firing you." But he wasn't sure Avon heard. He wasn't sure Avon cared any longer.

In the morning Valenn went to Avon's office, thinking he'd find him there. The body was long gone and so were the bloodstains on the carpet. Avon was alone, emptying the room, and Valenn watched him as he put some things in boxes and got rid of others. It was a quick task – Avon's office wasn't cluttered up with souvenirs or pictures. Valenn didn't really know if it was because most of his fondest memories were still so vivid that he didn't have any need for souvenirs or because he didn't have any memories fond enough to care about. "You're leaving. I can't believe it. This office… I always saw you here."

Nostalgia wasn't Avon's forte. "Things change, Valenn. People change. Feelings change. Vallis changed and tried to kill you and me. Nothing stays the same; you shouldn't expect anything else."

"Did Blake change, too?" Valenn asked.

Avon winced. "Blake… was forced to grow up."

"I see," Valenn said. "Where will you go now?"

Avon shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"But Blake…"

"Will do just fine without me. I should've gone long ago."

Later, after Avon had left, Blake invited Valenn to share his meal. The death had been officially broadcast, Brann Vallis' part in the attempt against Valenn's life revealed, and his death… Blake hated that he had to lie about it. He had explained in the speech that Brann Vallis had threatened Kerr Avon who had been forced to shoot him in self-defence. Avon had then resigned, shocked by the betrayal of an old friend and by having been forced to kill someone he knew so well. The speech had sounded very convincing.

Blake was eating with silent efficiency, but something in the way he was using the cutlery, treating each dish like a personal enemy, told Valenn he was upset. He didn't talk much throughout dinner. Only by dessert did he seem to relax a little.

"What will Avon do?" Valenn asked, "He's been working with you for so long… How can he think of living somewhere else? Doing something else?"

Blake drank what was left of his wine and put down the glass with too much force. "Why not?" he said, "He never wanted to take the job; he only stayed because of… well, because he thought he had to; now he wants to be free… So be it."

Valenn tried to think of the reason that made the decision so strange. "I can't imagine him anywhere else."

"That only shows what a limited imagination we've got," Blake said abruptly – it was something Avon often told him. "And I couldn't keep him, anyway. He killed a man; no matter that the man was a traitor, it was a murder and I certainly don't condone private justice in my government. Between letting him go and a trial for murder, it's not like I had a choice."

Valenn pushed his plate away; a waiter came, bringing coffee. When he was gone, Valenn said, "I can't believe he walked out on you like this."

Blake put some sugar in the coffee and stirred it. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he never stopped thinking of leaving. Maybe I should've let him leave long ago. He certainly asked me often enough."

*****************************  
After the incident about the shuttle, Avon withdrew into himself. He found something not quite right, some small fault in the long-range communication system and spent most of the days alone working on it. Those who tried to help were sent away without much diplomacy.

“You’re avoiding me,” Blake told him one day.

“Am I really?” Avon asked distractedly, not looking up.

Blake didn't move, waiting for Avon to stop whatever he was doing. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" He asked eventually, and had the satisfaction of seeing Avon give up his work and press the palms of his hands on the cold metal of the console he was fixing.

"I thought everything important had been said already. I have nothing to add. Now go away, Blake, I'm busy."

Blake remained absolutely undisturbed. "What are you doing?"

Avon turned to look at him and sighed. "I'm making this base undetectable and impregnable."

Blake nodded gravely. "What will you do when it's done?"

"I'll leave. I hope you'll let me have a ship and I'll go wherever I'll see fit."

Meaning, Blake thought, as far away from you as possible. "Don't go, Avon. It's safer here and didn't you admit…"

Avon turned to him with, as swift as a snake. "Don't you dare say it, Blake. I don't want to hear it from you," Avon said, turning his back on him.

Blake crossed the room to Avon and pulled him towards himself by the hips, his palms rubbing up and down… down Avon's thighs until they were trembling, then up again from the hips along Avon's flanks, feeling his breathing speed up. "Why go away? This is what you want. Do we have to part again?" His fingers slid down again, sneaking under the loose shirt, and Avon threw his head back, unconscious probably that every move added to Blake's desire... He tightened his grip and Avon growled.

"Let go of me, Blake." Avon's voice, so cold and precise but the despair underneath was something Blake was beginning to recognise.

"No. You're too good to be left alone. Come on, let's go to bed."

That Avon followed made Blake feel as if he'd tamed - in a purely temporary way - a wild dangerous animal.

Later, they were lying on the bed in Avon's room together, Avon lying on his side, naked against Blake's body, Blake's hand running roughly up and down his arm in a rhythmic movement.

"We located a new Federation base in sector four; not very far from here. I think…"

"Don't overestimate yourself."

Blake smiled and rested his callused palm on Avon's shoulder. "It might be a new communication centre; it's obviously very recent. I want to destroy it; we'll be leaving tomorrow. The raid shouldn't take long. Promise me you'll stay until I'm back. We can talk about it then." He bent over and trailed his mouth over Avon's shoulder, kissing and biting, feeling Avon shudder when he reached the crook of his neck. "Please."

"Why are you doing this, Blake? You could have anyone now, since you so conveniently forgot any moral principle you had. There are hundreds of women and men on this base ready to jump into your bed – all you have to do is to snap your fingers."

Blake looked in Avon's eyes, and took a deep breath. He had his mouth open to utter a blatant, but reassuring lie; Avon frowned, his gaze hardening.

"Keep the lies for the rabble, Blake. I know you too well."

So Blake gathered him in his arms and kissed him. When the door opened, Avon had fallen asleep and Blake was thinking about the mission to come.

"How does it feel?" A familiar voice asked from the doorstep.

"Close the door, Vila," Blake whispered.

"Why? Are you afraid that someone will see you?"

Blake pulled up the blanket, hiding most of Avon's nudity.

"You didn't answer me," Vila said, his voice a little harder than Blake had ever heard it. "How does it feel to be loved that much by someone like Avon?"

Blake met Vila's judging eyes. "It feels good," he said, feeling compelled by Vila's new tone to tell the truth. "Especially because it's him."

Vila nodded. "I'm sure it does," he said. "Don’t bother about me, I just wanted to grab some clothes. I settled in Jem's place; it's much more comfortable than here, so Avon can have this room for himself."

Avon moved a little, nestling closer against Blake's body, sighing with such abandonment that Vila averted his eyes and Blake couldn't help blushing. When he looked back at Blake, his eyes were shining. "What you do to him…" he said, shrugging, "I don’t get it; why he loves you so much. You don't even love him back."

But he's mine, and I'll keep him, Blake thought, realizing that such an amount of possessiveness didn't fit very well with the image of tolerance he wanted to project, didn't fit what he thought he was. Annoyed with Vila's perceptiveness, he laughed. "Are you jealous, Vila?"

"It wasn't like that between us. We had a friendship of a sort until he made such a good job of killing everything. But I can understand the attraction. A trophy, isn't he? If you can lead Avon, then you can lead anyone. Good for your ego."

Blake moved in anger and Avon opened his eyes, spotted Vila looking at them. Before he could say something, Vila had slammed the door behind him.

"He's jealous," Blake said.

"Don't be stupid, Blake. Vila's too smart to be jealous."

What that meant didn't matter; Blake kissed his lover into silence.

***********************  
"Maybe killing Vallis was the only way he found to get rid of me," Blake said. "Forcing me to make the decision he couldn't make. I suppose he deserved some peace."

Valenn wasn't sure he understood; shaking his head, he got up a little hesitantly. "Do you think he'll be back?"

Blake ran a hand through his hair. "It probably was a hard decision to make, but he made it. Maybe I'll never see him again."

Valenn thought he took it rather well. "Will you miss him?"

"Do I have to answer this?" Blake sighed. "I would appreciate not hearing about Kerr Avon for a while, if you don't mind."

Valenn sighed. The complexity of this relationship was beyond his comprehension; the way these men relied on each other, respected each other and still managed to keep enough lucidity to see the other the way he was confused him. The fact is, he thought with the selfishness of the young, that Avon won't be back for my wedding and although I know that he disapproves of this engagement, it upsets me much more than I thought it would.

*****************************  
Blake and his crew had been gone for three days – and the last time they'd reported they were fine. But it had been twenty-four hours now without any news. Anything might have happened since them.

There had been a summit meeting where Grant, Deva and some others had settled for waiting two more days, mainly because such was the order Blake had given before leaving. But to Avon, the fact was that Blake was a whole day late coming back and the lack of communications of any sort didn't bode well. Considering the improvements he'd been working on, he didn't believe that it could be an accident.

"Something happened," he told Vila, "but they're too stupid to understand it, and too timorous to make their own decision. I'm not Blake's vassal; I'll go."

"You'll need help," Vila said. Avon's face closed.

"I can pilot, thank you. I'll go alone. But I'll need you to open the door of the shuttle hangar, so you'd better get ready."

They made their way through the maze of corridors that led to the hangar and Vila picked the lock that gave access to the sanctum of Blake's base.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Vila asked.

"Absolutely. Are you volunteering to join me?" The irony was almost cruel but Vila didn't back up.

"It's your own suicide, Avon. I'll wait for you here. Make contact every 6 hours, so that I have something to tell the others."

Avon watched him walk away, and almost called him back. After some months of truce, his relations with Vila were once again tense and filled with wariness; he had the feeling that Vila resented him for giving in to Blake's desires too quickly. He sighed and took a step forward – then he saw them. They were standing near a shuttle – ready to take off, from what Avon saw. He walked up to them and one of the men turned abruptly, pointing a weapon at him.

"Avon!" he said, "What are you doing here?"

Avon narrowed his eyes, taking in the three young rebels – the girl he knew as a pilot; Blake said she was as good as Jenna had been – but the men he didn't know. "Well," he said, "maybe you should tell me what you're doing here."

They looked at each other, then back at Avon, wariness battling with the desire to share their conviction. "We think something happened to Blake," one of the men said, "Our other leaders don’t realize the danger. We're going to take a shuttle and rescue him." The hand on the gun tightened. "If you're going to stop us, I'll have to shoot you."

"No doubt Blake would be delighted," Avon said with a mocking smile. "I think I might have a better solution." He walked up to them slowly, not looking at the gun. "I'm used to this sort of raid. You'll need me. Did you go on a rescue party before?"

The one who'd called him by his name seemed to hesitate. "Once; but Blake was with us."

"Let me come with you," Avon said. "You're much too inexperienced to be of any help to him on your own."

The girl looked affronted but the others exchanged a glance. Avon was known for being a trained warrior – he was also known for being quite crazy and dangerous.

"It's still your party," Avon said. "I'm merely there to help. I won't try to monopolize the glory." He waited. Reluctantly, the one who held the gun nodded, and after a moment of hesitation, so did the others.

"I like to know who I'm working with," Avon said.

"I'm Lisan Stok," the girl said, "and I'm a pilot."

"I knew that; and a very promising one, or so says Blake. I'll wait and see."

The girl glared at him. "This is Shan Alman," she continued, pointing at the one who'd pulled out the weapon. He couldn't be over 19, but Avon had stopped believing long ago that age had anything to do with skills.

The third one stepped forward and extended a hand. He was a little older, probably, tall and slim with very short hair and an intent gaze that didn't flinch. "My name," he said haughtily, "is Brann Vallis. I was the one who decided this… expedition. We're glad to have you. As the saying goes, 'the more the merrier'"

Avon looked at him and nodded. "I suggest we leave before our absence is spotted."

Seven hours later, the ship was in orbit around Alta49.

tbc...


	9. The body of a dead enemy (always smells sweet)

“Why don’t you stop wasting my time and yours and tell me why you’re here?”

Valenn expected indifference and indifference was what he got. Avon didn’t show a fraction of emotion at the news. What was life-changing, universe-shattering to Valenn – he would become a father - meant nothing to Avon. Another failure at breaking Avon’s armour and reaching him, he thought. “I don’t think I’m wasting my time. And frankly, what do you do with yours?” he asked pointedly. That at least earned him the ghost of a smile. “It’s been a year,” Valenn continued. “You didn’t give any news, didn’t attend our wedding…”

“Please, Valenn. Stop. I’m not especially interested in all this and you know it. It’s not why you came. Will you get to the point at last?”

Valenn lowered his head, suddenly looking as young as he was. 

“Is it about Blake?” Avon asked.

“Yes.” Valenn said with a sigh. “He forbid me to tell you.”

A sharp intake of breath Valenn could’ve missed. 

“But you came all the same so you will tell me.” Avon said matter-of-factly. “Tell me, Val!”

It had been years Valenn had heard the nickname – since he’d been a kid. Avon would call him that sometimes, in moments when he wanted Valenn to listen. It sounded almost affectionate.

“Blake is dying,” he said. “He wants it to remain a secret.” Raising his head, he saw Avon’s deathlike paleness. “I’m sorry. I thought you should know but Blake was adamant I would leave you alone.”

Avon’s eyes held that tinge of madness that didn’t bode well. “How long does he have?” he asked.

“Six months maybe. Less than a year.”

Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob and Avon was asking again: “What is it? What is it that’s killing him?”

Valenn summoned his courage to answer this. “Something, an infection doctors can’t cure, got into his old wound… The one…” He didn’t finish. Avon had risen from his chair and walked to the window, resting his forehead against the cool glass.

“You should go now,” he said after a moment, his voice strained and hard. Valenn hesitated. He knew a lot about Avon’s madness, had witnessed it with Vallis’ murder. “Will you be alright?” he asked.

“No. But you were right coming to me. Thank you. Now go.”

Valenn got up, gave a look around. Nothing had changed in the apartment since the last time he’d been here, two years ago and it was so tidy and still that Avon could as well have spent the last year sitting on this chair waiting for him. It felt pathetic all of a sudden. He wanted to add something, words of comfort maybe but thought better of it. After a last glance he left.

Avon went to Blake on the next day. It was evening and a cold hard winter. He caught the beloved President as he was walking back home across the frozen gardens that stretched between the palace and his house. The guards following Blake didn’t have time to stop Avon who fell in step with Blake easily. 

“When did you intend to tell me?” he asked.

Blake stopped and gave him a sour look. “The kid couldn’t keep it to himself, uh? I shouldn’t have let him know.”

“I shall repeat my question: when did you intend to tell me?”

“Never,” Blake said, resuming his walk. “It would’ve made my life much easier.”

“Why? Are you afraid that I might become sickeningly maudlin about it?”

That got a short laugh out of Blake. “No. Not that,” he said.

“Good, because I won’t.”

“But you’ll feel guilty and I don’t have time for dealing with that again. And no patience.”

“You never had any patience to begin with and your time has been solely devoted to your cause and some ill-chosen friends.”

“I suppose you are referring to Bran Vallis?” Blake suggested with heavy irony.

“Among others,” Avon said, unperturbed. 

Blake stopped in front of the double door of the old building where his living quarters now were and turned to Avon, sighing. “What do you want, Avon?” he asked.

“I want you to be sensible for once and let me help you.”

“Help me?”

Avon's lips tightened. “Except if there’s been some tremendous change in your living habits that I don’t know of,” he started, “there’s no one up here waiting for you.” He made a pause, waiting for Blake to disappoint him, waiting for the words that would send him back home but they didn’t come. Blake only shrugged.

“You know me, Avon. I’m not good at keeping someone.”

Avon felt like he could breathe again. “Good. So I’m going to stay by your side. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Do I have a say in it?”

“Of course. Although I’d rather we didn’t argue about this.”

Blake looked very tired now. “Valenn is not ready yet. If there must be some elections,” he said. “He won’t be ready.”

“We’ll talk about that later, Blake. The longer you’re staying in the cold, the sooner you’ll be dead. Let’s go inside.”

***************

They reached Alta 49 after twenty very long hours spent in the cramped space of a small ship with a very young pilot who tried hard to live up to Avon’s expectations. Those were the moments when Avon missed Tarrant. Every time he boarded a ship he couldn’t help looking around for him. But Tarrant had died on Gauda Prime with Soolin and Dayna. Tarrant was lost. They were all lost, the three of them who had chosen to rely on him. Avon took a deep breath to dispel what felt a lot like sorrow.

“It’s not a communication centre,” he said when they came in sight of the planet and the computer was able to send pictures of what waited for them below.

“Or if it is, it’s not only that,” Vallis added. “It looks a lot like a penitentiary colony. And a big one at that. Well defended.”

Avon sighed. Now he missed Vila – he should have coerced him into coming. There would be doors to open, locks to pick.

“Stok,” he said, turning to their pilot. “Can you land this ship somewhere quiet?”

The girl shook her head enthusiastically. “Of course I can.”

And so she did. They hid the ship as well as they could and climbed the hill that overlooked the huge complex. “You’re right, Vallis. It’s a penitentiary colony,” Avon said, handing him the binoculars. Chained men were slowly progressing along a steep slope to some open space where guards waited. Troopers. And a little further near a higher building he could spot an official ship. Some Federation big shot had taken the trip to Alta 49. 

“We’ll never find Blake,” Alman whispered. “It’ll take days to explore the whole place, assuming we don’t get shot.”

Avon barely heard him. It was no coincidence, he thought, if the Federation had sent someone important on Alta 49 just when Blake had been missing. 

“Let’s give it a try. He won’t be among the common rabble this time. He’s too valuable.”

“If he’s still alive,” Alman chimed in – and cowered like a terrified mouse under Avon’s deadly glare.

Bran Vallis led the way – Avon didn’t want to deprive him of his illusory leadership. They shot four troopers and stole three uniforms – Avon played the prisoner they were leading along the corridors. He’d used the trick before; it seemed to work well enough although Avon hated to be the one without a weapon. Vallis’ grip on his arm was painful. They had to talk and fight their way through dozens of federation people, silencing a few guards who were asking too many questions and hiding their bodies. It was Vallis’ idea to free the prisoners along the way to create a diversion. When they finally reached the command room, they spotted Blake trapped in a small metallic cage; wires were attached to it. He was gripping the bars, obviously furious and shouting at someone. Typically Blake, Avon thought. In the following silence Avon heard the hated voice, the singing, lovely, hated voice of the woman he’d sworn to kill.

“You can’t win, Servalan…” Blake was growling. And she was laughing – ah, such a beautiful laugh it was and how much Avon wanted to silence it to death.

“Oh Blake. Blake, Blake, Blake! If this is not winning, I don’t know what it is! I’m afraid this time there is no possibleescape for you.” She raised her hand and waved at a man dressed like a scientist who was standing by a console. Avon saw him reach for a button and understood what they’d do – electrocution, like in the old times. Grabbing Vallis’ weapon he fired three times across the room, wanting his hand firm and his aim perfect. The man fell to the ground and Servalan, dressed in one of her most fitting white gown with royally billowing sleeves, turned around and spotted them. She shouted an order. Troopers poured out from behind a locked door and the shooting began. Avon would admit later having no clear memory of how it had gone except from rushing towards Blake’s cage, making sure he was reasonably well and punching Servalan unconscious, catching her in his arms and shouting, “I’ll kill her if you keep on firing!” He had not expected anything from that but the troopers did stop firing, uncertain. “Free this man!” he ordered, pressing his gun against Servalan’s head, pressing her closer against him, feeling her warmth and the beating of her heart, smelling her unearthly perfume. “Free Blake or I’ll shoot her.” Suddenly Blake was by his side, and loose prisoners were everywhere and the troopers were shooting again as Avon ran, an unconscious Servalan in his arms, Blake and Vallis by his side. “Where are Stok and Alman?”

“I don’t know!” Vallis shouted over his shoulder. “Dead I presume.”

Avon passed Servalan to Blake and ran back. He didn’t care much about Alman but they needed a pilot. He found her curled up on the ground beside Alman. “Shan is dead. He died protecting me… He…” Avon lifted her and threw her over his shoulder; she weighed nothing at all. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“I think I got a wound; my hip hurts a lot and my leg is broken.”

“Can you fly the ship?”

She laughed painfully. “Ah, the ever practical Avon! Such a gentleman. Yes, I think I can.”

They reached the shuttle running between the shots and the flames of a huge arson – the prisoners were having their revenge but somehow Avon doubted they could get out alive. The Federation would send more troops and there were not enough ships to get away. Blake shoved everyone inside and Avon helped Stok to sit on the pilot’s seat. For a moment he feared she would pass out but Vallis gave her some alcohol from a small flask and that seemed to help her a bit. The ship rose slowly, rocking under the fire of laser canons and finally managed to reach a safe height and a reasonable speed.

“They’ll come for her,” Vallis said, pointing at Servalan. She had regained consciousness and Blake was busy tying her to a sit.

“Kill her, Blake,” Avon said.

“No. I want a trial and….”

Avon threw his gun across the cabin, yelling, and Stok almost lost control of the ship.

“Are you mad? They’ll track us to have her back! Once they have spotted us, what do you think will happen? Did I secure and hide your beloved base for nothing? We’re not ready, Blake, not by a long shot. Kill her!”

Blake looked at him and back at Servalan, hesitating.

“Avon’s right, Sir, Vallis said. She’s too dangerous to be kept alive.”

Servalan opened her mouth, wanting to bargain for her life but Blake hit her right on the mouth and she screamed in pain. 

“Kill her Blake. Or let me kill her.” Avon said.

Servalan was trying to get rid of her bonds, blood trickling down her chin. “You are smarter than that Avon! Smarter than them!” she hissed. “Together we can achieve great things – just get rid of them. You shot Blake once; you can do it again! You…” She collapsed on the seat. Blake still held the weapon against her head; blood ran down her face. Her dead gaze was still fixed on Avon.

In the silence that followed Stok started crying. Vallis went to the girl, sitting by her side, comforting her while they left the second quadrant.

“Thank you, Avon,” Blake said. “And I’m grateful to you too,” he added, turning to the rest of the rescue party. “Great job.”

“Don’t do this ever again, Blake.” Avon said, glaring at him. “We can’t afford to lose you just because you won’t be sensible. You can’t risk yourself any longer. If you die…”

“Someone will take my place.” 

“No one will. Without you they’re nothing.”

Blake looked at him, wanting to argue. Eventually he nodded. “I will be more careful, I promise.”

“Good. Now what shall we do with her?” he asked, pointing at Servalan’s body.

In the end they took a picture of her with all the blood and brains scattered on her dress. Avon managed to hack the Federation network long enough for them to send the picture with an ominous message from Blake. After that Avon dumped the body through the airlock and they watched her drift in space with her eyes still open, her wide sleeves like the wings of a fallen angel floating around her.

 

tbc...


End file.
